


Fuel

by rosie_red



Series: Fuel [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Eating Disorders, Guilt, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Overworking, Purging, Starvation, oblivious prowl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2018-10-17 22:05:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 24,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10603203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosie_red/pseuds/rosie_red
Summary: What's a mech to do when you've got the responsibility of an entire army on your shoulders?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First time posting, forgive me if its not the best!

Another day, another never ending pile of data pads. The Autobots had been stranded on the planet known as Earth for 1 year and 8 months, ignoring the 4 million spent in stasis. It was long enough for the mundane routines to have been ground in: shift, double shift, battle with the Decepticons, recollect and recuperate, argue with the Earth officials over the damage, rinse and repeat. Prowl was currently at step 5 in the never-ending cycle, writing an apologetic but firm letter to a naval commander confirming that, yes, his prize frigate may have been damaged in the crossfire of the previous skirmish, but would he rather the entire west coast had been erased from the map? For the second in command of the entire Autobot army, days off were practically non-existent. It wasn’t uncommon for the officers in general to be caught sleeping at their desks, something that their medic Ratchet often fumed over, despite being a regular offender of it himself.

That last battle had been a particularly harsh one. Prowl shuddered in remembrance, wiping a slightly shaky servo down his tired faceplate. The Decepticons had attacked an experimental and, as had been made clear many times by an angry human; expensive, offshore naval base, which just so happened to store a few million gallons of oil. It had been an Autobot victory, but at a cost. 6 of their already small group remained in a critical state 3 days after the battle had been won. Worst of all, their leader Optimus Prime, who the army’s morale essentially relied upon, was one of them.

Prowl opened his optics, bringing his attention back to his office and the obscene amount of paperwork cluttering his usually organised desk. He had found his attention drifting to the what-ifs of the battle often in the past few days. What if he had sent Trailbreaker to back up the front lines instead of the rear? How many less casualties would have arisen if he had reacted to Skywarp’s change of position 0.3 seconds faster? His damned battle computer was on a loop over the numerous variables, not that Prowl would stop it. Megatron could launch another raid at any time, the Autobots _had_ to be prepared, he _had_ to be ready. Any causalities, mech or human, were on his shoulders. It was the burden of being second in command and the chief tactical officer.

The chime of the doorbell dragged him from his musings.

“Come in,” He spoke, placing the datapad he held in one servo onto the desk. The door whisked open, and a mech with stubby sensor horns and a bright blue visor swaggered in.

“Hiya Prowler. Wanna hang?” The cheeky greeting was accentuated with a casually cocked hip and broad grin.

“Jazz, what have I told you about social calls when on duty?” Prowl chastised.

“But Prowl!” Jazz whined, “You’ve been off shift for 2 hours, I checked this time.”

Prowl’s optics widened at this. When had it gotten so late? He was badly behind schedule! Prowl didn’t work by hours or shifts, he had to complete 50 data pads a day in order to be allowed to finish. The army couldn’t afford for him to work any less. Of course, this was his own expectation, he’d likely be forcibly placed on medical leave with a nice wrench imprint on his helm if Ratchet ever caught wind of how much he demanded of himself.

“Prowl?” Jazz’s tone sounded concerned this time, and Prowl realised he had been asked a question.

“I apologise,” He quickly regained his composure, “Please could you repeat that?”

Jazz leaned onto his desk with both hands getting into Prowl’s personal space, “You’ve been cooped up in this office all day, wanna come refuel? Y’know, with me? We can discuss reports n’ stuff if you want.”

It sounded nice, a break, especially with Jazz, a mech who Prowl greatly enjoyed the company of. But he had only completed 39 data pads today. His preoccupation with the previous battle had taken up approximately 30.2% of his processing power, and evidently his productivity had taken a hit.

“I don’t know Jazz, I have so much to-“

“Don’t give me that excuse Prowl,” He used his actual designation, he must be serious, “You must have filled in 5 billion data pads with how long you’ve been in here!”

_If only_ Prowl thought.

“Besides,” Jazz continued, “You can always come back afterwards, pleaaase Prowler!”

Prowl sighed, resigned to his fate, “Fine, but just for a little while.” He smirked at the triumphant expression on Jazz’s faceplate, pushing his chair back from the desk and stretching his door wings slightly as he stood. His vision suddenly blurred, energon rushing to his feet. The ring of his frame colliding with the ground echoed throughout the small office, and was the last sound he registered as his world turned black.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It starts so simply, the rabbit hole is easy to fall down.

If the tang of disinfectant and grumbling curses coming from the fuzzy red and white blob in front of him wasn’t enough to clue him in on where he was, the sharp pain of a wrench slamming into his forehead confirmed it: medbay. Groaning and attempting to sit up, Prowl shuttered his optics to clear them of static.

“What happened?” He asked before he was roughly pushed back down.

“What happened?” He winced at the volume of the voice. “What happened is our second in command decided to work himself into stasis! Your levels were on 23%. _23%_ Prowl! Do you have any idea how much extra work you made for me? Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?” Ratchet’s expression was a mixture of quickly fading anger, frustration and evident exhaustion. A knot formed deep within Prowl’s chassis, sucker punched by the guilt, knowing full well the old medic likely hadn’t recharged in days.

“I’m sorry Ratchet,” He couldn’t meet the CMO’s optics, “It was unintentional I assure you. I was merely attempting to get on top of my paperwork. I was unaware my fuel percentage had gotten so low.”

Ratchet roughly dragged a servo across his optics. “Unaware? That’s not good enough Prowl. We’re already down 2 officers,” He gestured to the rest of the room with an out flung arm, “We can’t afford lose our tactical head too, especially not through his own stupidity! Not to mention you somehow managed to send our unshakeable TIC into a tizzy-“

“-Jazz?” Prowl blurted, recalling the minutes before he blacked out. “Is he okay?”

“He’s just fine, but that’s more than you’ll be if you pull a stunt like this again.” The medic left him with instructions to rest, and to not even think about doing any work, unless he want to find himself welded at the aft to the med berth.

With Ratchet gone, the rhythmic beeps of spark monitors and soft drags of vents were the only noises in the room. It took less than 5 earth minutes before Prowl began to feel restless. Carefully propping himself into a seated position using the berth’s pillow, he surveyed the neighbouring med berths. In the berth to his left lay Trailbreaker, mesh bandages littering the bot’s frame. And to his right, lay the prone form of his leader. Optimus was hooked up to multiple tubes and cables, his plating charred, dented and scratched beyond recognition in some areas. It knocked Prowl sick. It was his fault these mechs were here. His lack of preparation and inadequacy had put them in harm’s way. He looked down at the energon drip feeding his lines and checked his HUD. His current energy levels were at 87%. He didn’t deserve this energon. Not just that, the Autobots couldn’t afford to let him have it. They’d been suffering serious shortages for months.

In battle, he was stationed far behind the frontlines, flanked by their best snipers. He was well protected whilst his subordinates and comrades risked their lives carrying out his orders. Provided that his battle computer was supplied with enough energon to calculate strategies, there was little need for him maintain energy levels equal to those of the real fighters in this war. Even the scientists among them needed a higher percentage of their limited supplies, and combining medical into the equation made Prowl functioning on less a logical step in his mind. It was a thought he had considered many times previously, if he was honest.

He shouldn’t be here. He should be working to make sure this didn’t happen to his friends again.

Convinced now, he wrapped his fist around the base of the tube connected to his arm and tugged, hissing as the needle was removed. Inventing deeply, he watched fixated as a rivulet of pink liquid lazily dribbled onto the med berth from the now free needle. Swinging his legs around and onto the floor, he went for the exit, but not before sparing a glance for the motionless frame of his leader as the door whooshed shut behind him.

~

Ratchet had caught up with Prowl a few days later, of course, but his sheer determination and assertions of feeling much better now eventually chased off the old mech. It had been 3 weeks since the last battle, and the good news that no mechs remained in medbay had been broadcasted by an unusually cheerful Red Alert over the comms. Since leaving medical himself, Prowl had thrown himself into his work with great vigour. He had upped his data pad requirements to 65 per earth day, as well as setting his maximum fuel percentage to 65% to match. In the past 18 days he had followed his objectives 96% of the time, much to his satisfaction. It seemed his recent fuelling and work schedules were paying off! The corner of his lips quirked up slightly at the thought, as he walked towards the briefing room where the scheduled officers meeting was to take place.

“What’cha smiling about Prowl?”  
“Didn’t know he _could_ smile.”

He’d been so distracted he had almost crashed right into the Ark’s notorious trouble makers: the twins Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. Before he could gather his thoughts, Sideswipe spoke.

“We haven’t seen you around for a bit, do u do anything other than work?” He almost sounded concerned.

“Someone has to fill in paper work around here, Sideswipe,” He said pointedly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting to get to.” The twins didn’t budge and Prowl had to forcibly stop his door wings from squirming as the pair simply stared at him. “I said, excuse me.” He snapped, pushing past the taller bots and continuing on down the corridor. Once he had moved away, the twins glanced at each other, mirrored expressions of unease on their face plates.

“His paint looks dull.” Sunstreaker had never been one for subtlety.

“Hmm,” Sideswipe considered, “And I could swear he’s lost some mass too. He stresses too much.” The two remained silent for a moment, lost in thought, before carrying on their way.

 

~

Officers meetings were something Prowl enjoyed for the most part. Today however, after introducing the agenda and going over the previous battle’s grievances, he had quickly found his attention wavering. Giving into his processors demands to space out, he idly watched as his fuel percentage dropped from 60.2% to 60.1%, finding a strange accompanying satisfaction as it did so. He regained his focus as Ironhide’s rough voice went over the weapon supplies and recent shooting stats. He managed to maintain it for the rest of the meeting, despite the odd fogginess of his processor. _I must need to recharge_ , he mused, as Optimus closed the meeting with his customary, “Til all are one.”

He was collecting up a stack of data pads off the meeting table when Jazz plonked his aft down onto the desk beside him.

“How ya’ doing Prowler? Anything I can help you with?” Prowl smirked, well clued into his friend’s antics.

“What is it you want Jazz? And you would do well to remember that the sparkling pout will do nothing to persuade me of whatever it is you want.”

“Aw don’t be like that Prowler! Its just a little get-together.“

“Jazz-“

“-Too late! Its already been approved by boss-bot.” He interrupted, a slag eating grin plastered over his angled faceplate. “I was just wondering if we’d be seeing your door pretty lil’ door wings there?” Resisting the urge to roll his optics, Prowl considered. Jazz was going out of his way to invite him, and he _had_ been working to maximum efficiency recently, maybe a rest would be okay for one night.

“Okay Jazz, but just for a short while.”

“YES!” Jazz whooped punching the air, “Okay if I pick you up from your habsuite? Don’t wantcha’ going back on that!”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yikes high grade might not be the best choice on an empty tank.

When Jazz buzzed his door at precisely 8:30 local time, Prowl couldn’t help the level of surprise that washed over him. He hadn’t realised that Jazz, the notoriously easy going officer, understood the concept of being on time. Sending a ping to the door to open he couldn’t help but freeze, taken slightly a back at the sight that greeted him from the corridor. Jazz appeared his usual charismatic self, relaxed posture and signature blue visor both in place, but his plating was gleaming. It was clear he had waxed his plating to a high shine, most likely for the sake of the party, Prowl surmised. The extra shine highlighted the curves of his sleek frame, especially his gorgeous bumper – where in the universe had that thought come from? It was obvious to most that Jazz was an attractive mech, but Prowl had never considered his closest friend anything but that in all the millennia they had known each other. Internally shaking himself, he realised a simple compliment was the correct response over gawking at his friend.

“Good evening, your plating looks lovely Jazz, did you polish for the party?”

Jazz positively beamed at this, grabbing onto Prowls elbow and steering him into the corridor as he spoke. “Thanks! Yeah thought I’d call in a favour from Sunny.” He explained.

As they reached the rec room Prowl began to regret not putting in any effort himself. He had never been like Tracks or Sunstreaker, obsessing over his paint job, but before the war he had enjoyed maintaining a certain level of shine, and further indulging on special occasions. It occurred to him that he had ‘let himself go’ to borrow a human phrase. At the realisation, he shrunk behind Jazz somewhat embarrassed as they entered the room.

Inside the lights were dim, but a mirror ball hanging from the ceiling was reflecting coloured lights that had been installed, little dots dancing across all visible surfaces. A deep thumping beat blared from the speakers at the end of the room, above which Blaster stood in a small booth enthusiastically mixing and altering the loud music. The tables had been pushed to the wall creating a makeshift dancefloor in the centre, the tables themselves being utilized for the presentation of various kinds of energon goodies and cubes of high grade. Why Optimus allowed a certain red frontliner to brew the stuff Prowl would never know.

Jazz led them over to a table seating Ironhide, Optimus, an already clearly overcharged Wheeljack, and Hound. The group were animatedly talking and laughing, holding half empty cubes in their servos. Jazz ushered him to sit first before bounding over to the buffet spread. Prowl had accounted for this, and had restricted his energon intake accordingly to reduce any accusations of him being ‘boring’. His tanks were currently at 38%. At this level, he could easily consume 2 cubes and still remain under his set 65%. Feeling confident with his preparation, he joined the conversation alongside his comrades, smiling at Jazz when he returned with the first round of cubes.

~

An hour in and the party was in full swing. An overcharged Smokescreen had been the first to brave the dancefloor, dragging a protesting Cliffjumper with him. The amusing scene had apparently been enough to kick start an influx of others to join in, until the centre of the room became a thronging mass of bouncing and shimmying frames.

“— nd’ so ah said “ah’d rather kiss Megatron’s aft!” and then ah punched him.” Mirage who had joined their group burst into giggles, and Wheeljack’s helm fins flashed bright orange with his mirth.

“Hiiiide you tell that one everytime!” Optimus slurred, the grin on his face betraying his words, as he took another swig from his cube. Prowl was grinning too. Despite having only guzzled his two allowed cubes, consuming high grade on an empty tank had let the fuzzy contentment of overcharge creep up on him unexpectedly. So much overcharge, that he almost didn’t notice when a third cube was shoved towards him.

“Nooo, I can only have two cubes!” Prowl whined jerking away from the cube as if burned. Hound who was sat to Prowl’s left picked the cube up and held it unsteadily to the SIC’s lips.

“Lighten up Prowl, its *hic* okay to like get overcharged n’ stuff at a party.”

“Yeah Prowl, it’s a _party_ ,” Jazz stressed the word, “It’s like against the rules _not_ to drink high grade!” Great, now Jazz thought he was boring too. In the warm haze of his current mood Prowl couldn’t help but think that maybe one more wouldn’t be bad, right? He could be allowed one more? The look Optimus gave him before leaning in close, was as smug as a cat who had broken into a cream factory. A very overcharged cat.

“As your leader I _order_ you to drink the cube.”

Well, that settled that then. He liberated the cube from Hound and upended it, gulping down the bitter liquid until the thick stream trickled out into nothing. Grimacing at the sharp taste, he couldn’t help the warm feeling in his spark at the whoops and cheers of the other bots around him, as he slammed the now empty glass on the table’s surface.

The rest of the night became a blur after that.

 

~

The first conscious thought he had when he awoke was _this is what it must feel like to have Devastator kick you in the helm_. Prowl groaned, rolling over to smoosh his faceplate into the pillow. What had he done last night that left him feeling like this? Attempting to pull up memory files was like ineffectually beating against a metal wall, as multiple corruption warnings popped up on his HUD. After a quick defrag of the files, images began to flash up. He had been persuaded to dance by Huffer of all mechs and, oh Primus, he had practically gyrated on top of Jazz. How was he ever going to live this down!? Prowl’s spark skipped a rotation as he came across a particular memory file. He had been at the buffet table. No. There had been gelled energon treats laid out, ever so neatly. No. He’d stuffed at least a dozen of the sickly things down his disgusting intake. NO.

Panicking now, all thoughts of dancing forgotten, he pulled up his fuel percentage levels. They read 78%.

“No no no no!” He choked off a sob that was swallowed by the pillow. He checked again. There it was, taunting him. 78%. And again. 78%.

This time he did sob, fat drops of optic fluid soaking the pillow beneath his faceplate. How would the Autobots ever take him seriously now? They had seen one of their commanders get himself completely inebriated and dance inappropriately with their third in command, before guzzling down fuel as if there wasn’t a shortage. He cried until he exhausted himself, and drifted back into recharge.

When he woke for the second time, Prowl quickly washed in his personal wash racks, then headed to the rec room to inspect the damage. It wasn’t as bad as he would have expected, cleaning drones having already attacked the worst of the mess. All that was left to do, was to shift the tables back to their original positions, an easy enough task to complete by himself. And maybe it could act as a distraction from the disastrous events of the previous night, he found himself focusing on. Prowl found that, despite his intentions, his processor couldn’t help but overanalyse the whole situation until he wanted to squirm with the guilt and shame.

 _How can someone frag up that badly, you’re pathetic, an embarrassment to the entire army_.

_How much fuel do you think you’ve wasted on an evening you can barely remember? Do you really think remaining at 65% is going to be enough to make up for that? 50% is more like it._

50% did sound reasonable, especially considering how much fuel he had wasted in just one evening. He didn’t get any further with this particular thread, as the first few mechs began to trickle into the rec room to fuel up, before the first shift of the day. Bluestreak was among them. He was a mech that Prowl was more than fond of, due to having played a major role in assisting his transition into the Autobots after the fall of his home city to the Decepticons. Deciding this would be both an opportunity to catch up with the younger bot, and a distraction from his own processor, Prowl strode over meaningfully to greet the mech.

~

They spoke for around an hour, Bluestreak babbling about the previous night and – oh did you hear about the latest human movie release and so on and so forth. It was relaxing, back to a routine he knew well, and faster than he could comprehend, it became time for the younger mech to leave for patrol.

“Oh! Sorry I’ve been so distracted I didn’t realise you don’t have a cube, let me go get you one before I go.” The more plump Praxian of the two went to rise, leaning in the direction of the dispenser. Prowl stopped him with a gentle servo to his knee.

“No thats okay, thank you Bluestreak, I refuelled before you came in. Now, you best run along and I will catch up with you later.” He smiled as Bluestreak dragged out his goodbye for a further 2 minutes, detailing his plans for the day before finally exiting. Soft smile still in place, Prowl went to collect up Bluestreak’s empty cube for recycling, but he was confronted by the one mech he had really _really_ not wanted see.

“Wassup’ Prowler how’s that helm o’ yours?”

 _Remain professional, remain professional_ so the mantra went.

“Fine.” The answer was clipped but not overly cold. “Though I would prefer that the next time you decide to go over my head and throw a party, I would appreciate it if you allowed me to get my _own_ drinks.”

Jazz laughed, apparently having avoided a hangover. “That bad huh? Best thing for a bad helm is a good warm breakfast and you’ll be good, have ya refuelled?”

“Yes.” He snapped, not in the mood to even think about fuel, “I am not a sparkling Jazz, I can feed myself thank you very much.” Why did he insist on trying to shove fuel down his throat at every opportunity?

Jazz stared at him in shock for a moment, before looking away and whispering “Is this because of last night…”

Internally beating himself for his unpleasant tone, he pinched his nasal ridge and sighed. “No, I apologise, I just have a lot of work to do that I didn’t get to last night.”

“Same actually, I’ll er, catch up with you later, I gotta go.” And with that he was gone. An angry tone made itself known once the doors of the rec room whisked shut.

“Not cool mech.” It was Blaster’s voice. “Do you even realise,” he shook his head, “Never mind, you clearly have no idea do you, you might as well be blind.” If it hadn’t been for blaring of alarms and Red Alert’s hysterical cries of “D-DECEPTICONS ATTACKING!” over the comms, he would have written Blaster up for insubordination right then and there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quick note, whilst a developing relationship between Jazz and Prowl certainly will be present, this fic will be a more focused on Prowl and what he's going through! Sorry if this disappoints! <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another battle and something changes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up! This chapter gets a little depressing and includes non graphic forced vomiting.  
> ::comms::

The blaring claxons became nothing but background noise by the time weapons had been collected from the armoury, and the troops had made their way to the entrance of the Ark. The group transformed on the Prime’s que to “Roll out!”, and they headed towards the coordinates supplied by their computer system Teletraan I. Running the brief details he had been supplied with through his battle computer, Prowl eased into the familiarity of command, selecting the pre-planned battle strategy with the highest percentage of potential success. He spoke over the comms with an authority born of experience and necessity.

::The Decepticons are attacking a power station at the coordinates sent to you all by Teletraan. Implement battle formation beta 6, taking extra precaution when considering the potential damage of contact with high voltage machinery.::

Using the danger of the electronics to their advantage was an unspoken, yet mutually understood order.

They reached their destination just 15 minutes later, breaking a multitude of human traffic laws in the process. The group of Autobots, 16 strong, transformed into root mode and followed their leader to a wall just out of sight of the entrance to the station. Prowl had watched over CCTV footage showing the inside of the power station on the brief journey over. He had logged the Decepticons positions, in addition to the most likely threats to the Autobots once they began their counter offensive.

He spoke out loud to the bots closest to him. “Trailbreaker, I want you on the control deck floor covering Gears and Brawn. Mirage, you stick to the higher levels and attempt to get behind their position and take out Soundwave’s cassettes. Smokescreen, Hound and Ironhide, you’re our heavy hitters today, I need you to prevent the Constructions from combining whilst Wheeljack works on shutting down the grid safely. Bumblebee, you have Reflector. Bluestreak you’re with me.”

“Where do you want us Prowl?” Sideswipe flung an arm over his brother’s shoulder.

“Up front and centre. No jet judo today. Under ANY circumstances, do you understand?”

Sunstreaker grunted, but both twins acquiesced, nodding. There wasn’t time for internal conflict when the threat of a major power outage to the Decepticon’s advantage, hung over their helms.

“Good, I want you to keep close tabs on Skywarp and Thundercracker whilst Tracks,” The mech in question nodded, “I want you to focus on Starscream. Keep him as far from Wheeljack as you can and preferably grounded.” A chorus of “Yes sir!”’s sounded as the group turned their attention to the station’s entrance, as Prowl turned his to the leader of special ops.

“Jazz can I trust you know what to do?”

Jazz gave a cheeky wink with one side of his visor, “Y’know it!”

Optimus looked to his lieutenants. “Are we all set?” both mechs nodded.

“Yes Prime.”

“Understood. On my signal.” Optimus gave a quick hand gesture and they charged forward with single-minded determination.

~

Bursting into the main control room where the Decepticons were siphoning energy into cubes, the opposition seemed a little startled, likely at the speed they had managed to arrive the station, but not overly surprised at the sight of them. Prowl took a deep invent as he assumed his position on a rickety metal balcony that sat above a series of pipes connected to a generator. His servos clutching his rifle were shaking slightly. There was always a level of uncertainty and fear surrounding battle scenarios. The crew of the Ark had become akin to family to the tactician, and these fights were not mere sparring. Especially in such a potentially dangerous environment as this, there was a genuine possibility that his mechs could be seriously maimed or worse, even with their CMO stashed away in the relative safety of the stations operating booth.

He checked his energon levels, it had become a bit of a nervous habit, 69%.

 _Stop it_ , Prowl chastised himself. There were much more important things to focus on than his fuel rate. Keeping everyone alive certainly should have been his sole focus. Still, he couldn’t help the nauseating squeeze of anxiety gripping his tanks at the figure.

“I’ll give you one chance Megatron.” The echo of the Prime’s voice was piercing, bouncing off the metal walls. “Leave this facility now, or we will be forced to make you.”

“You think I would back down to _you_ Prime?” Megatron scoffed.

Strutting up to the silver mech’s side, Starscream joined in the taunting, “Why mighty Megatron, I don’t think he wants you to leave at all, I believe he’s after a fight!”

The chuckle Megatron gave was downright sinister, “For once Starscream, I think you might be right.”

::PRIME GET DOWN NOW!:: Prowl hollered over the comms as his battle computer discerned the mech’s next move.

Optimus just barely managed to dodge the shot levelled at him. He threw himself to the ground as a beam from Megatron’s canon collided with a pipe behind his shoulder. With a loud crash, cascades of freezing water sprayed from the now split pipe and flooded onto the floor below. The Prime emitted an angered growl as he stood, but it was the deliberate explosion of the Decepticon’s pile of energon cubes immediately after that, that ended the tense standoff. The two sides of the room, previously frozen, merged into one violent and shouting mob.

::Good work Jazz.:: Prowl commed him, before pressing on to the next issue.

::Wheeljack you’ve got to shut that grid down before any water reaches the electronics.:: “Bluestreak take out Megatron’s cannon.” He said to the bot beside him, all attention focused in on the scene below.

::Hound, Scavenger is limping, use his left ankle to bring him down.::

Prowl ducked suddenly, dodging a stray chunk of pipe, and sent a shot from his own weapon in retaliation.

::Sideswipe, keep those seekers on the ground! Bumblebee, focus on Reflector, bring him further out, I repeat, focus on Reflector.:: Damn bots, why couldn’t they do as they were told? He didn’t have time to get angry, as he spotted Soundwave take an opening.

::Ironhide behind you!:: The red mech whirled round, just as the cassette player brought down his fist narrowly avoiding him.

::Prowl,:: Ratchet sounded pissed. ::Perceptor’s down, I’m closing in on his position.::

::Ratchet no, stop, wait for my signal—::  
::No, I’m not letting him bleed out!::

 _Damn it!_ He internally swore as he watched Ratchet almost hit the deck after slipping on the rapidly growing puddle. Somehow, he made it to Perceptor unscathed and knocked Ramjet back with a flying kick. Prowl let out a vent he hadn’t known he was holding.

::I’ve shut down the grid!:: Wheeljack’s almost too perky voice came over the comms.

::Great work,:: Prowl responded, ::Give cover to Ratchet and Perceptor, they are a floor below you.::

A loud bellow suddenly sounded throughout the building, Optimus had used the distraction of Bluestreak’s disabling shot to Megatron’s cannon to pin him to the wet floor.

“Give it up rust bucket!”

“Never!”

Distracted for a moment too long by the commotion, Prowl realised with growing horror that Bumblebee was far removed from formation.

::Bumblebee fall back!:: His voice was panicked as he watched Vortex advance on the minibot. ::Bumblebee fall back right now!:: He was helpless to do anything as the arm, likely weighing as much as the Bumblebee himself, slammed into the distracted mech, sending him careening into a nearby machine. The results were immediately obvious. The minibot’s frame sparking as thousands of volts passed through it. No one was nearby. Bumblebee had moved completely away from his comrades and was at the far end of the large room. This was Prowl’s fault, why hadn’t he noticed sooner?! He sent out a plea on all channels, ::Bumblebee is incapacitated. Someone is needed to intercept.::

“Decepticons retreat!” Apparently Megatron had managed to claw his way out from under the Prime, his helm and pride dented enough to call it a day. Luckily for Bumblebee.

Perceptor was stable and being helped to his feet by Brawn, as Ratchet rushed to the convulsing frame of the yellow minibot. Fanning his door wings wide for stability, Prowl vaulted over the metal railings landing delicately on the wet floor below, and ran over to join him.

The medic was up to his elbows in wiring cursing at the small sparks being thrown at him. “How the frag did this happen?”

“Vortex.” The designation alone was enough to renew Ratchet’s cursing. The plating on Bumblebee’s back was charred and blackened in areas. The small patches of daisy yellow paintjob that had survived were flaking and dull.

The sound of large pedes slamming against the floor could be heard as Optimus ran at full pelt towards them. He was stopped by Ironhide grabbing his arms and yanking him back before he could jostle the medic.

“Prime stop, let Ratchet help him.”

“What the frag happened here?” He turned on his first officer, “Why was he so far out compared to everyone else? He’s tiny Prowl look at him, he can’t take on Vortex!”

“He deviated from position, I attempted to call him ba—“

“Attempted? Look at him Prowl, he could offline!”

“Orion, back the frag off, this isn’t Prowl’s fault.” The tall mech froze, unused to the harsh tone directed at him. “Look boss-bot we gotta calm down if we want lil’ bee to be back on his feet as soon as possible. Playing the blame game ain’t gonna help anyone. Fact is it’s happened, and now we gotta deal with it. But first we gotta get everyone back to base.” Jazz’s voice was soothing but firm, and apparently enough to cut through Optimus’ panicked haze. His optics seemed to clear, as if only just noticing the rest of his troops gathered behind him, many appearing scandalised at their leader’s outburst.

“I-I, you’re right Jazz. I’m sorry.” He sagged in Ironhide’s hold. “Autobots return to base, Hoist please help Ratchet transport Bumblebee.”

~

Prowl was numb for the entirety of the journey back to base. His processor was racing, attempting to analyse events faster than he could react to them. The guilt was overwhelming within his systems. The Prime had become somewhat of a mentor to Bumblebee since they had found him, an orphan in a ruined city. Optimus could almost be considered a brother to the minibot. Considering this, his reaction to the smaller’s injuries were entirely understandable, logical even. Emotional outbursts were common in these kind of situations, Prowl told himself. _Especially towards the bot at fault_ , a voice reminded him, and he would have whined if not surrounded by his subordinates.

He didn’t remember arriving back at the base. So wrapped up internally he found himself walking automatically to the empty officers lounge, not entirely sure of how he got there. It was like he was watching his frame carry out actions whilst he watched from above. Looking up from his pedes the officer’s private fuel dispenser stared back at him. Immediately thoughts of _take a cube_ whispered at the edge of his consciousness, demanding him to step forward and drink. Prowl shifted nervously and checked his fuel levels. 47%.He had just managed to get back under his desired 50% after the strenuous battle, he shouldn’t ruin it now. But once the thought was in his helm it wouldn’t shift.

He would just have one, Prowl decided. He could have one and then work off the excess in the one of the training rooms afterwards. He walked up to the dispenser as if it would bite and retrieved a cube, holding it to his lips with his optics closed. The sweet liquid slipping down his intake was pure ecstasy. He let out a quiet moan, his processor numb as he drank the fuzzy pleasure the energon could offer him. All too quickly the cube was empty and the feeling gone, replaced by a new feeling: desperation. One wasn’t enough to fill the gaping chasm inside, he needed more. He drew out a second, then a third. The fuel was going down more easily now, it was exhilarating and he felt a rush at the thrill. After the third cube, he started on some rich energon treats sitting in a small container next to the dispenser. He grabbed handfuls at a time, barley stopping to chew their gooey innards before swallowing them down. The taste was so good, and once they were gone he went for another cube, anything to fill the empty void inside.

Half way through his last cube, reality caught up with him. His stomach plating was grotesquely distended to make room for the engorged fuel tank behind it, and oh primus did it hurt. Aches and an overbearing feeling of fullness wracked his frame, leaving him gritting his denta together hard. Prowl’s optics began to burn, optic fluid spilling over silently and dripping down his faceplate. His friend was hurt, maybe even dying, and his leader hated him for it. And now he had gone and wasted yet more fuel, thanks to his gluttony and inability to control himself. Pathetic.

He strode out of the lounge feeling weighed down by the world. He made for his habsuite, processors yelling at him to _get rid of it_. He wasn’t stupid, he knew the idea his battle computer had thrown at him, attempting to make sense of the data bombarding it, was a bad one. But the suggestion had turned into a full-blown itch within his processor that he couldn’t scratch.

He dared a look at his fuel levels, they read 92%. That decided it. Stupidity be damned, he couldn’t possibly process this much fuel, he wouldn’t allow it. Once arriving at his suite, he made straight for the private wash racks, a privilege his rank had supplied him with, and began to pace. He almost lost his nerve and balked multiple times. Turning on the shower, the coils of steam from the hot solvent calming him, he partially bent at the middle and opened his mouth. Using 3 of his servos he pushed them into his intake, spark racing in disbelief he was actually doing this, and tried not to retch.

It was a long process. He found he had to pause multiple times just to get his vents back under control. He watched as the last of the partially processed energon swirled down the drain, the full feeling gone. Standing back, an immense feeling of calm overcame him, as if the past hour –had it really been that long? –had simply never existed.

He hadn’t anticipated how exhausting it would be. Shuffling out of the wash racks, he went straight for his berth and sunk down deeply onto it. His intake was burning and raw, but the 43% on his HUD made him smile nevertheless.  The dazed and lethargic spell stayed with him as he drifted into recharge.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prowl is not in control anymore.

I was strange how normal it became. 7 Earth months had quickly flown by and it was almost time for the human’s celebration known as Christmas. Bumblebee had recovered from his injuries in the first 2 months, much to everyone’s relief, and the Prime had personally apologised to his friend for his outburst, to which Prowl had assured him he had nothing to apologise for. He had maintained his fuelling regime to varying degrees of success, and had added a training routine alongside to boost his dexterity and burn off any excess energy.

When walking into a room he couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone knew what he was doing, that they knew about his disgusting secret. He could feel their optics burning into him with their judgement. But this was entirely illogical. Not even Ratchet had mentioned anything other than his usual “Don’t overwork yourself” speeches, and he worked hard to hide his embarrassing lack of self-control from the crew. Whilst he had certainly lost some mass, restricting his fuel intake for days at a time often led to overcompensating by gorging on large proportions of energon in one sitting. If he didn’t purge it from his systems, he found it often cancelled out his efforts, so his overall outward appearance had changed only slightly and very gradually as the months went by.

With the thought on his mind, he stood in front of the full-length mirror in his hab suite and stared at his reflection. Gone were the proportions he was previously known for, he was all angles and straight lines now. His leg struts appeared almost comically small if looked at for too long, and his formerly voluptuous bumper now only jutted out an inch or so from his chassis. Prowl couldn’t say he was overly enthusiastic about the changes, but part of him couldn’t be happier as they at least showed he wasn’t completely impulsive. The biggest change had occurred to his alt mode. The Datsun’s originally sleek and curved surfaces were now harsh, and the shorter bumper was even more noticeable in this form, as his systems had cannibalised excess metals to make up for the deficit.

Taking one last look at his naked form, he grabbed a large woolly red jumper adorning the image of an Earthen mammal known as a reindeer on the front from his desk. He carefully pulled it over his helm and slotted his door wings through the holes specially designed for them, and turned back to the mirror. Today was “ugly Christmas jumper day” on the Ark. It had become a yearly tradition for the Autobots, and prizes were awarded to the bot with the most unappealing attire. He didn’t really understand it, but he was at least a good sport. For the past 2 years, Prowl had worn the same Rudolf jumper that Jazz had thoughtfully gotten him on the first ugly jumper day, so that his friend didn’t feel left out. Looking at himself however, Prowl noticed how much bigger the jumper seemed. In places it had been taught only the year before, the material now hung off his frame limply, making him appear even smaller. He shrugged it off, it was just a jumper after all, and Prowl set off for the rec room where the majority of the crew had gathered for morning refuelling and the competition.

He nodded as he passed by Perceptor, the scientist had somehow incorporated a working lighting system into his jumper. He joined a table with Bluestreak and the twins. Bluestreak was wearing a clashing lime-green and orange knit jumper, that Prowl had to agree was certainly ugly, whilst it appeared Sideswipe had tried to stick more tinsel to his jumper than there was available on Earth. Sunstreaker’s jumper, Prowl decided, was probably the least likely to win the competition, as it was the furthest piece from ugly he had seen today. The jumper was black in colour and cropped, showing of the golden mech’s slim midriff. It read the words, “Ho, Ho, Ho!” likely the only reason he was getting away with classifying the item as Christmas related. It seemed the golden mech wouldn’t give up his penchant for style for even one day. He got their attention gently, cutting in on their conversation.

“Good morning bots, your jumpers are certainly interesting this year – surely that’s uncomfortable on your plating Sideswipe.” They turned, looking him up and down, but none of them, not even the usually chatty Bluestreak, saying anything. Instead they opted for staring like an Earth deer in headlights.

 _Great_ , Prowl internally rolled his optics, he must have caught them in discussing a new prank, or something else that would ultimately give him a processor ache.

Sunstreaker cleared his voice box and spoke up, breaking the awkward silence, “What do you think of mine, Sir?”

“Whilst I doubt you’ll win any prizes with that ensemble Sunstreaker, it suits you well. I do hope I didn’t just interrupt the planning of something nefarious. I trust you have learned from last time you dyed Cliffjumper of all mechs pink.”

That garnered more of a reaction. Sideswipe snorted, “Not my fault he walked through the door ahead of Beachcomber. And nah, the tinsel isn’t too bad, and besides, you know what humans say, ugliness is pain.” He smiled broadly at the SIC, though it didn’t quite reach his optics.

“Sideswipe, I thought the humans said that _beauty_ is pain, not ugliness?” Bluestreak looked to Sideswipe, puzzled.

“It’s ugly jumper day Blue, it was a joke.”

“oh…OH I get it, sorry. There’s just so many human phrases I can’t remember them all and I look stupid.”

“Shh, we don’t think you’re stupid Bluestreak.” Sideswipe shifted his attention to Prowl now, “So, why are you still wearing that old thing?” He indicated the jumper with a raised cube, “It’s a competition you know, you’re supposed to change it up a bit.”

Before he could answer however, a voice said, “Prowl, can I borrow you a minute?” The bot in question turned around to see the CMO standing behind him, he was wearing a soft expression that was rarely seen on the old bot.

“Of course Ratchet, can I help you? Please excuse me.” He replied, moving away from the table.

The three mechs at the table stared as Ratchet led the pair out of the room, before Sunstreaker once again broke the silence.

“He looks..” He paused looking for the right word, “Fragile.”

“He’s lost some mass for sure.” Bluestreak agreed.

Jazz chose this moment to slide up to them. “Hey mechs, did you see Prowler?” Their expressions betrayed the answer. “He looks worn down, huh. Think I might have to start keeping tabs on him, making sure he leaves that damn office.” Jazz clenched his servo into a fist on the table top.

Sideswipe placed his own servo on top of Jazz’s clenched one, “Hey calm down, he’s a big bot, it’s not your responsibility.”

“Still, I’m his,” He hesitated, “Friend. I’m his friend, and I should be there to make sure he doesn’t get so stressed out.”

Bluestreak piped up, “Ratchet will look after him. Probably shout at him for over working too! Betcha’ it’ll involve his wrench. He’ll be fine!”

“I hope so, Blue. I hope so.”

~

 

Ratchet led the younger mech down the set of corridors, and Prowl quickly realised he was being taken towards the med bay. He led him inside and sent a ping to lock the doors, before stopping in front of a cybertronian sized set of scales. He pointed to them. “Step up please.”

“Ratchet?”

“Will you just do it.”

Prowl huffed but complied. He watched as numbers flashed onto the digital screen, 846.5 KG.

“Hmm I thought so,” Ratchet began, “Damn it Prowl! I thought you had lost some mass but this is ridiculous. I’m serious when I talk about a regular fuelling schedule you know! You’re almost a third less than what you should be, you weigh barley more than Bumblebee right now.” Prowl wasn’t sure how to respond, did Ratchet know?

“I-“

“Don’t start Prowl. I know, you’re _so_ busy, but neglecting yourself like this for the sake of a few extra data pads is not okay! Here,” He un-subspaced an energon cube, the blue tint betraying its medical status, “Drink this.”

Prowl flinched at the command, medical grade energon was almost twice as potent as normal energon, and he was already at 32%! “I already refuelled this morning Ratchet, and I should be back to supervise the competition, lest it run over and I’m late for the meeting with the human Government.” Ratchet gave him his _I’m not impressed_ face.

“You’re not leaving this room until you’ve drunk that entire cube Prowl, the humans can wait. What percentage are you on?”

“63%.” He lied.

“I mean it Prowl, you’re not leaving.” Ratchet thrust the cube towards him, waiting. Prowl didn’t want to give him a reason to check his levels personally and call him out on his lie, but he didn’t want to fuel up either. Finally, he accepted the cube and begrudgingly started to drink. He felt sick, Ratchet watching him while he refuelled made him feel so invaded, and it occurred to him he hadn’t fuelled with anyone else for quite some time. Once finished, he handed back the empty container, straining to keep the revulsion off his face.

“There now, that wasn’t so hard was it. Go on, shoo! Go and play with the humans, and don’t let me catch you running yourself down again!”

Swiftly exiting Ratchet’s domain, Prowl head back to the rec room, but not before making a detour to his private wash racks first…

~

It was a surprise to everyone when the usually somewhat reclusive Red Alert won the ugly jumper competition. The security mech’s blue jumper displayed a Christmas tree, on top of which he had stuck a figure of Megatron in a ridiculous angel costume, an image which even Huffer cracked a smile at.

At 11am sharp, Prowl, along with Smokescreen and Inferno, boarded Skyfire’s hold to travel to Washington DC. They had been assigned to liaise with the Secretary of Defence concerning matters of security for both sides. There had been an increasing level of reporters and paparazzi caught nearby the Ark, attempting to capture footage of the ‘freaky robot aliens’ as one article had politely referred to the cybertronians as. Besides sending their perimeter sensors and Red Alert into a tizzy, an incident involving a journalist coming close to being stepped by an irritated Tracks, had been enough to warrant a security overhaul. Unknown to the humans, the Prime had confided in Prowl that he was also concerned for the privacy of his underling’s personal lives. Since settling on Earth, certain couples had become much more open about their relationships within the crew, and it wasn’t worth the probable controversy the discovery would cause if the reporters caught wind of it. Secretly, Prowl was more concerned over Mirage’s reaction if his association to Hound was outed, than over anything the humans could throw their way.

The four of them idly chatted, about the morning earlier, Smokescreen’s latest card game and, of course, the upcoming discussions with the humans.

“I hope they don’t want to station any of them near the Ark,” Inferno grumbled, “We see enough of them squishies without any damn military involvement.”

“Agreed, I’m hoping we can settle on harsher punishments for any trespassers.”

“Oh do be fair Smokescreen,” Skyfire’s disembodied voice came through a small speaker, “They are just curious about us, wouldn’t you be if aliens landed on our planet?”

Smokescreen laughed, “You really are a scientist through and through, Skyfire.”

Whilst his teammates laughed, Prowl’s focus was internal. His empty tank was clenching and churning, small spasms wracking his frame. He knew the feeling well from back in his early days aboard the Ark, when the rocky movement of the ship had been too much on him. But that was millennia ago, an inexperienced cadet he was no longer.

::Sir, are you doing okay?:: Skyfire asked gently over comms, noticing the officer curl in on himself.

::Yes, I appologise Skyfire, just a spot of shuttle sickness, it should pass.::

::I have some energon cubes in my storage compartment if that would help?:: The Autobots really were fortunate to have the considerate jet on their side.

:No thank you,:: 30% was enough, ::but I appreciate the offer. I’m sure I can hold out for 30 minutes.::

::If you’re sure sir.::

 

~

They landed on time at the secure location precisely 36 minutes later. Once the mechs inside were clear, Skyfire transformed and the group were met by a man who introduced himself as Caspar Weinberger. The Secretary of Defence was a tall but stocky man, with dark hair and narrowed eyes. His expression matched Prowl’s perfectly, deceptively neutral with a slight downturn of the lips. He meant business.

“Gentlemen,” He began, arms folded harshly behind his back, “I trust your journey was pleasant. Now, if you’d like to follow me on a tour of our base before we discuss the matter at hand.”

“Of course.” Prowl responded, all bots present startled at the straight-to-the-point attitude of the small man. They followed him, falling into step as they were led down a corridor.

“I am Prowl, second in command of the Autobot army and head tactical officer. This is Smokescreen, my second, Inferno, an expert in security issues, and one of our scientists, Skyfire.”

They eased into conversation, Inferno quickly taking the lead once the man began to point out the security systems installed throughout the base as they passed through it. They came to a stop in what was clearly a meeting room, a large table and chairs at its centre. The conversation between the security bot and human had become somewhat heated now, “Of course, we must consider the possibility of your technology being stolen—“

“—not gonna happen,” Inferno countered, glaring, “Our security systems have ten times the oomph yours do, plus you ain’t met our security officer.”

“Nevertheless, I must insist…”

Prowl didn’t catch the rest of the discussion. His entire frame suddenly detached from his helm and his audials were plunged underwater. Sound came through muffled and tinny, a high-pitched tone prolonged and screaming inside of his helm. His vision swam too, not gone but almost too much to process as everything became all too bright and distorted. The whole situation lasted for what felt like hours and yet only a moment, before his servo slamming into the nearby wall as he tipped jolted him back to reality. His vents were shallow and uneven, but his cheeks burned at the stares from the other occupants of the room.

“Is he okay?” The human’s voice echoed in the otherwise silent space.

“Prowl?” Smokescreen placed a servo on his shoulder as if he might collapse at any moment.

“Fine, I’m fine.” He assured, still feeling dizzy but less-so. He pushed off the wall and attempted to regain his composure. “Shuttle sickness, it hit me harder than I was expecting.” The explanation was a weak one, and the expressions of his teammates were somewhat doubting, but it was all he could think of right now.

Smokescreen frowned. “Are you sure? You frightened me there, should I get Skyfire to take you back?”

“No, no, I am perfectly functional. I apologise for the delay.” He turned back to the man, “We should discuss possibilities that will ease both of our worries.” He would never forgive himself for burdening Skyfire or the rest of his teammates with a return journey. No, he would push through and come to the best solution for the Autobots and their human allies.

~

The rest of the assignment went without issue. Between them, they had managed to compromise on harsher fines for troublemakers, and a monthly security sweep of the base’s perimeter. Content with the outcome, the Autobots travelled home triumphant. Prowl too felt accomplished. There had been little arguing, and both sides had understood the other’s concerns, the decision eventually reached had been made balancing both points of view.

It was 6:48 PM local time, still relatively early in the evening, yet Prowl was exhausted. It had been a draining day both emotionally and, in Prowl’s case, physically too. It was all he could do to not slip into recharge during the journey back to the Ark. Once they landed, he thanked his team for their hard work, before dismissing them early for a well-deserved break.

As he walked through the burnt orange corridors of the Ark, he couldn’t help reflecting on the earlier embarrassing incident at the military base. _I should stop_ , Prowl realised. A thought he almost had hadn’t dared to acknowledge. The months of restriction and discipline were no longer aiding what he had set out to do. All his time, energy and focus went into reducing his energon intake, he could no longer effectively plan or protect the mechs in his care. This couldn’t go on. He checked his levels: 26%. Very low. Changing course, he turned down another corridor and went directly to the empty officer’s lounge where he pulled out a full cube of energon. He found the nearest table and sat. _Do it for them_ , he ordered himself, slowly going through the motions of tasting and swallowing the pink liquid. It was good, as energon always was, even without flavourings. Once it was empty he sat for a few minutes, his tank unused to being full groaning and griping. The fullness was uncomfortable. Too uncomfortable. _Oh Primus_ what had he done? A sense of déjà vu overcame him along with sickening dread, as he made the familiar route to his private wash racks.

As he choked on his servo, optics watering and intake burning with half regurgitated mess, he felt a rising panic at the realisation of how little control over this he had left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to do quite a bit of research on curb weights of many of the bot's altmodes and the Secretary of Defence in 1986 for this one lol! 
> 
> The_WideFunction Kindly drew Sunstreaker in his Christmas jumper! Its fab <3 https://lordgrimwing.deviantart.com/art/Sunny-703880472


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jazz finally makes a move.

Jazz hummed quietly to himself as he strolled casually through the Ark. It was one of his rare days off, and whilst he would usually spend it bugging some bot in the rec room, today he was far too distracted. It was no secret among the crew that Jazz had a fondness for Prowl. Well, a fondness was putting it lightly. The truth was, Jazz had a big fat spark-seizing-circuit-blowing crush on his fellow officer. It had taken a while for him to realise it. The pair had been friends for millennia, and admitting that the fuzzy feeling deep in his chassis, that appeared only when Prowl was around, even existed was a feat itself at the start. Once accepting it however, he’d tried almost everything in his power to get the cop-bot to notice him.

He’d tried complimenting his strut melting figure. He had tried inviting him to a myriad of events and activities in an attempt to push their relationship to the next level. Heck, he’d even gotten Bluestreak to let him in on the subtleties of door-wing speak so he could better understand his friend. And the response from Prowl? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Jazz had concluded that Prowl was either well aware of his affection and attempting to spare his feelings, or he was utterly oblivious. After countless failed attempts, and barley hidden laughter being directed at the pair from clued in mechs, Jazz was inclined to suspect the latter. The uncertainty was going to end today. The night previously, he had been cornered by a completely overcharged Ironhide who, between hiccups, had managed to get out, “You jus’ need to _ask_ him. Prowl – *hic* Prowl, ain’t good at readin’ through the lines, yer fancy tricks wont woo ‘im. *hic* You jus’ gotta ask him.” And that was exactly was Jazz was going to do. According to Teletran, Prowl was in one of the training rooms. This fact alone was surprising. He had taken it upon himself, the past century or so, to force the mech out of his office a few times a week for proper refuelling and socialising. If no one intervened, Prowl would be perfectly content to forgo energon and rest for an unhealthy length of time to squeeze a few extra data pads in. That was the reason his friend was looking so worn down as of late, having to deal with Earth officials on top of the Decepticon threat understandably sent stress levels soaring.

Coming up to the training room door but lingering outside, Jazz felt a sudden surge of fear inside him. It was ridiculous really, he had one of the most dangerous jobs in the army. He had been stabbed, shot and beaten and immeasurable number of times. He had stared down the barrel of Megatron’s cannon, and yet, the idea of opening himself up to a pretty Praxian was enough to instil true fear in him. He stepped fully into the door and saw Prowl, and all his fear and uncertainty melted away. The mech was throwing himself around the specially built obstacle course with incredible speed and grace. He was on the last leg of the course, faceplate the epitome of concentration as he vaulted over the final bar and landed at the finishing line. It was now or never.

“S’up, Prowl!”

 

~

Run. Jump, grab and swing, DUCK! _Come on, come on_! He urged himself. Run again, faster, door wings in and ready…Vault!

Skidding to a stop he pulled up his HUD, his invents were deep as his entire frame burned with his efforts. ‘Assault course completed in 4 minutes and 28 seconds’ it read. Prowl smiled to himself and swiped at the condensation coating his helm.

An unexpected voice coming from the other side of the room startled him and he turned, over shot it, and landed ungracefully on his aft. “Ah!”

“Primus, sorry Prowler! Didn’t mean to frighten’ ya!” Jazz jogged over, offering him his servo once he was close. He accepted it, clambering back to his pedes.

“Honestly Jazz, I know you’re special ops, but must you insist on creeping about everywhere.” His exasperated tone was betrayed by the slight curl of his lips at the corners.

Jazz laughed, “Oi’ I used the front door! No creeping involved, swear on mah spark!”

“I suppose you’re right...this time. But don’t think that gives you an excuse the next time someone catches you on the ceiling!” Jazz stuck out his glossa at this, and Prowl smirked. “So, other than 'not' creeping up on me, was there something you needed?” It was always straight to business with this bot, Jazz’s nerves had hoped for a little more banter before launching into his feelings.

“Yeah, actually.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, you see, I, well, I was wonderin’,” He cleared his vocaliser, “I was wonderin’ if you wanted to go out sometime, y’know, like together – as a date.” He clarified, unable to meet Prowl’s optics.

The prior casual air of playful banter was replaced by an awkward silence. After a few seconds, Jazz looked up again.

“Prowl?”

"I-"

Prowl’s processor was spinning at his friend’s confession. Jazz wanted to go on a date, with HIM?  Jazz was his polar opposite, well liked and sociable, a bright light within the Autobot forces, and, Prowl’s mind stuttered over his own admission, he was totally gorgeous. Why would he ever want to date him, the notorious fun-sucking, out of control workaholic? The idea was outright laughable, a joke even. Yes, that must be what it was. Prowl’s insides churned with distress at the realisation that this was probably some bet at his expense, and that many of the crew were likely in on it.

“Please say something.”

Prowl realised he had been staring, not saying anything. He shook it off, meeting Jazz’s gaze, desperately trying to keep the hurt off his face.

“I don’t appreciate my feelings being used for anyone’s amusement, Jazz. Being my friend, I thought you would have understood that, apparently I was mistaken.” He pushed past the other bot and walked quickly – but not too quickly, out into the corridor.

No no no! Jazz flinched internally at the icy tone Prowl threw at him. He turned to follow, speeding up his steps to catch up with the mech.

He called out to him, “What? Prowl, no! This ain’t a joke, you know I wouldn’t do that to ya!” How had his friend taken this so wrong?

“Please, leave me be.”

His voice cracked, a rare slip of composure that made Jazz stop abruptly. He stared after Prowl, his door-wings lower than usual and his posture slumped, before he rounded a corner and disappeared from sight. He stood there for a few minutes, his spark aching as he realised he had likely ruined not only his chances at loving this mech, but their friendship too…

 

~

The surrounding ship was a blurr, he wasn’t even sure where he was, as if his legs were moving on autopilot. Optic fluid was pricking at the edges of his vision – was he really so unlikeable that even Jazz despised him now?

_Of course you are,_ he internally spat, _you get his friends killed and you expect him to want hang out with you or, Primus forbid, have feelings for you?  You’re living in a fantasy!_

The internal monologue served only to drag his mood down further. He likely would have carried on wandering, lost in thought, if it wasn’t for the sudden servo on his shoulder making him jump.

“Prowl? Are you alright?” It was Optimus.

Prowl steeled his best ‘Yes I am perfectly fine what are you talking about?’ expression and looked up at his leader.

“Forgive me, I am a little distracted today.”

“A little?” The Prime’s battlemask-less faceplate seemed less than convinced. “I called your designation three times Prowl.”

Three times? How hadn’t he noticed?

“Okay, maybe more than a little distracted.” He conceded.

Using the servo on his shoulder, Optimus steered Prowl into his office and ushered him to sit – seemingly his legs had auto navigated him towards the command deck.

“Here,” Optimus handed Prowl an energon cube from his subspace, “Now, why don’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

“Thank you,” he accepted the cube placing it down on the desk, “Truthfully, I have gotten behind on my paper work.” It wasn’t a lie, he was behind, but his leader didn’t need to be burdened with his emotional baggage.

“I know the feeling.” Optimus raised his cube, pointing towards a large stack, no, mound of data pads in the corner of the room. Prowl gaped.

“Primus, Optimus! That’s got to be three weeks’ worth!”

The Prime grinned, before taking on a more sombre expression.

“I understand there is a lot going on right now Prowl, trust me I know, but you must take care of yourself no matter the workload.” He reached across the desk, placing his servo on Prowl’s and gently squeezing. “I know your penchant for overworking can get you in slag with Ratchet, but aside from that I miss your company, old friend.”

Internally Prowl beamed at the admission, a small smile the only external reponce.

“I apologise for worrying you Optimus, I must admit that I miss our chess matches.”

“Only because you win every time, I’m sure.” His grin was back in full force.

 

When Prowl eventually left the office, a few Earth hours later, he was in much better spirits. It didn’t however, escape Optimus’ attentions that he left behind his untouched energon cube.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very late upload, this one was fighting me!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans are keeping the Autobots busy.

“Prowl?”

“Hm?” He’d been distracted, watching the 4th digit after the decimal point of his fuel percentage drop.

“Are you even listening? Are you going to let me have the materials necessary for the security update or not?”

“Calm down, Red.” Ratchet chimed in from his seat across the meeting room.

The security officer huffed, sitting back in his seat. “Well?”

“Yes, you will have your supplies.” He was far too tired to argue with the paranoid mech.

Optimus cleared his vocaliser, drawing everyone’s attention to the head of the meeting table, “If the usual is dealt with, onto the main reason I called you all here today.”

“Yeah Prime, what gives? Human’s giving you trouble again?” Jazz asked.

“Not this time,” The large mech seemed hesitant before announcing continuing, “I think it is time to be more proactive in our efforts against the Decepticons. I propose a mission to commandeer the Decepticon’s space bridge and corral our remaining forces from Cybertron.”

That really got everyone’s attention. The room was plunged into a stunned silence. Optimus, ever the pacifist, had focused primarily on defensive strategies over offensive, much to many of the officer’s frustration. Whilst the Prime’s preferred strategies reduced casualties in the short term, not kicking the Decepticons where it hurt had dragged the war on longer and led their species close to extinction. Every death weighed heavily on Prowl’s spark, if Optimus was finally willing to push and end this, Prowl would push him to push harder. His battle computer audibly booted into overdrive, he was shaking at all the possible futures this course of action could lead to.

Apparently Ironhide was the first to recover, slapping his knees and announcing, “FRAG YEAH!”

 

~

The meeting ended up spanning until the late afternoon, the ins and outs of the proposed mission dissected and scrutinised every which way before moving on.

“We will continue this discussion tomorrow at 9am local time. This mission is now our main priority. To reiterate, we have 1 week from today to prepare. You all have your individual tasks until then, I want to thank you all for your hard work today. Dismissed.”

There was a collective sigh at the Prime’s words. Chatter starting up as data pads were packed up and the officers began to head for the exit.

Optimus spoke again, more quietly, “Prowl not you. Stay back a moment, please.” He did so, sitting back down awkwardly as they waited for everyone but the Prime and Ratchet to leave the meeting room. What required his leader and medic to talk to him personally?

“What is it, Prime?” He asked once the room was clear.

“I don’t want the probability of success being any lower than 90%, do you think it can be managed Prowl?”

“Absolutely, Sir. If we split our forces into 2 and come at them from multiple angles, I believe we can overwhelm their forces for long enough. Though, I will have to calculate which formation will give us the best likely outcome.” Prowl smiled as he relayed the information, confident in the plan.

“I’m glad to hear it. But that’s not all Prowl…” Optimus trailed off, shuffling in his seat and Prowl’s smile dropped.

Ratchet took over, “Your work has been slipping. Not just that, but you look frightening.” Prowl’s chin hit the floor.

“I – excuse me, what?” The medic was infamous for his gruff demeanour, but damn.

“Ratchet!” Optimus spluttered.

“No, Optimus, he needs to hear this.” He turned to Prowl again, “You look ill. Do you even recharge anymore? Your paint is peeling and your leg struts don’t look like they can hold you up. What the frag is going on here?”

“We are just concerned, Prowl,” Optimus jumped in, “Especially with this mission coming up, I _need_ to know I can count on you.”

Embarrassed and uncomfortable, Prowl wished the floor would open up underneath him. How dare they. He felt the anger rising even as his cheeks burned with humiliation.

“I have just been stressed lately, okay.” He bit the words out, begging himself internally to remain calm. “I have not been recharging well. I didn’t realise I was worrying anyone, I apologise.”

“At least Jazz used to force you out of that damn office, but something happened, didn’t it? You’ve been avoiding each other for months. Are you just completely incapable of looking after yourself without someone to make you?” The medic snarled, and Prowl bristled.

“That is a personal matter. It doesn’t affect our work and therefore it is absolutely none of your concern. And I’m not a newspark, I may be stressed but I can look after myself perfectly well, thank you very much.” The words were uncharacteristically rude from the SIC, and they killed whatever comeback Ratchet was going to throw at him.

“Fine,” Ratchet grumbled, defeated, “But I’m dragging you in for a complete overhaul once next week is over.”

“Fine.” Prowl spit back, “Am I dismissed?” Optimus nodded and watched as he pushed back from the table and briskly exited the room. The two remaining officers shared a look.

“Something’s not right.” Optimus said, optics distant.

Ratchet snorted, but there was no humour in it, “That’s saying something.”

 

~

It took everything Prowl had not to storm through the Ark like a stroppy sparkling. He felt utterly humiliated. Why wouldn’t they stay out of his business?

After the extensive meeting, Optimus had given them all the rest of the day off to rest, and what with the shadows dancing across the walls of the ark as the sun sunk lower, rest was probably the best idea. ‘Probably’ being the key word. Prowl was great with all that was probable, and he knew that if he attempted to rest in his current state, he’d toss and turn all night with no hope of recharge. His office it was then, at least there he could be somewhat productive.

_Don’t think about what Ratchet said_ , the paradoxical thought, of course, pushed Jazz straight to the forefront of his processor. It was almost summer now, five months since he had spoken to Jazz on anything but a professional level. He missed him. He still had Optimus, and he would class many on the Ark as his friends, but the loss of his closest friend had left him feeling isolated.

The isolation, whether real or imagined, had only amplified his obsession with his energon intake. His systems now rarely ran at over 28%, anything higher more often than not being purged from his systems.

He was so tired.

Finally reaching his office, Prowl crumpled into his chair, grumbling at the uncomfortable position his now stick-like frame made oh-so-easy to find. He repositioned himself, finding this new spot to be slightly more bearable. He had spent so much time sat in this exact position over the years, it had really become a way to recognise the recent changes to his frame. Aside from his favourite chair now feeling like a sharkticon was gnawing on his aft, the drawer under his desk that used to press annoyingly into his thighs, now didn’t so much as brush his knees.

He picked up a data pad, determined to get out of his own processor and focus. It worked for a short while, he sped through 10 in the space of 2 hours, spurred on by the taunting memory of Ratchet saying his work was “slipping.” He was half way through the 11th when the door chimed.

“Come in.” He called. The door opened and Trailbreaker shuffled in.

“Sir.” The black boxy mech stood to attention.

“At ease, how can I help you?” He was internally amused as the mech slouched at his words.

“It’s the duty roster Sir, there’s an error on it. I have two conflicting shifts on second shift tomorrow.”

Prowl blinked and his optics clouded and he brought up the public duty roster to check. Huh, there _was_ an error, Trailbreaker was expected both in the engineering bay and on monitor duty. He deleted the monitor duty slot, aware of the general dislike of that particular duty from the majority of the crew.

“I apologise Trailbreaker, I have sorted the problem, thank you for bringing it to my attention.”

“Thank you, Sir!”

He dismissed the mech before sitting back and rubbing his optics with the heel of his palm. In all his years organising the duty roster he had never doubled up a mech’s shifts. Maybe Ratchet was right and his work really was slipping. The interruption had made him realise just how drained he was, even his spark ached. He stared forlornly at the discarded 11th datapad that was not going to be completed tonight.

~

Prowl was in his element. “This is where sub-unit alpha will intercept with the first group of Decepticons.” He was pointing and gesturing animatedly to the projected 3D map filling the expanse of table. “I want them kept back for a minimum of 10 minutes until sub-unit beta –” He paused and shifted a smaller set of orange icons to the inside of the miniature space bridge, “—can infiltrate the space bridge and send out the pre-prepared message to our comrades.”

“How do we know if they’ve done it yet or not if we can’t use our comms?” Sideswipe piped up from where he was perched in the cramped meeting room. How they had managed to cram the entire army in here was still a mystery.

“We don’t, which is why co-ordination is vital.”

“Still don’t see why using comms would be that big of a deal.” Sideswipe said, rolling his optics.

“We need to keep the existence of our second team unknown for as long as possible. This gives us the best chance at successfully sending the message, _and_ wiping any traces of interference using the virus Wheeljack and Perceptor have created.” Prowl nodded to the two science mechs, Wheeljack giving him a thumbs-up.

Smokescreen who had been staring attentively at the diagram, chose this moment to speak up. “I don’t get it. Why are we keeping all our officers in the alpha sub-unit? Surely we should at least send Jazz, as head of special ops, to hack the space bridge – No offence Mirage.” He added hastily.

The noble mech waved a hand as if to say it didn’t matter.

“Yeah, I did wonder about that ma’self.” Jazz’s voice was neutral, his posture a casual slouch, but Prowl could sense the irritation behind what the words conveyed. Naturally however, there was a reason Prowl was head tactician.  

“We are already acting out of the norm by initiating a fight, if they realise our top infiltrator is missing, it will take Soundwave in particular, less than 2 minutes the realise we’re up to something, therefore endangering the objective.”

Smokescreen’s optics visibly lit up and he started to scribble furiously on his datapad and Jazz seemed placated enough to smirk.

“So,” Bluestreak wondered aloud, his door wings wiggling slightly, “If it goes as planned, the Decepticons won’t know that we even sent the message?”

“That’s the idea, yes. Chances of detection if all goes well stand at less than 6%.” That it took 3 days of constant work with no recharge to get the impressive margin of error, Prowl didn’t mention.

“You have all performed incredibly,” Despite his leader’s facemask it was evident he was beaming. “I know this week has been tough, and that we are all tired, so please take it easy and rest this evening so that tomorrow will go as well as it possibly can.”

There was a general heightened air of anticipation and nerves leaving the atmosphere buzzing. Just 16 hours until the risky mission was carried out.

 

“Hey Prowl!” Bluestreak called over to him as he and the twins walked over. “Your plan is really good, we’ll kick aft for sure!”

“Thank you, I appreciate it.” Prowl said, sincerely.

Sideswipe threw an arm around Bluestreak’s shoulders before asking Prowl, “You wanna come fuel with us before recharge? We’re going to the rec?”

“Thank you Sideswipe, but I think I’m just going to recharge.”

Sideswipe quirked an eyebrow, “You sure? You look like you could use it after this week.”

_Go with them_ “I’m sure, I will see you three tomorrow.” His thoughts contrasted what came out of his intake. He turned to leave but was stopped by a servo grasping his upper arm. It circled it entirely, Prowl couldn’t help but notice. He looked back at Sunstreaker questioningly.

“Be careful tomorrow, take care of yourself.” The quieter twin’s voice was sombre, and Prowl felt a lump form in his throat at the intensity of his stare, he could only nod in response.

The silence was broken by Bluestreak wishing Prowl goodnight. Sunstreaker removed his servo before the three separated from Prowl and started towards the rec room. Prowl did exactly as he had planned, reaching his habsuite and flopping down onto his soft berth. He knew he should fuel up before tomorrow, but his energy levels were currently at 18%, risking a cube could lead to 3 or even 5 more, and he really didn’t have it in him to purge it tonight. He whined at the predicament, pressing his faceplates into his soft pillow. As if aware of his thoughts, Prowl’s fuel tank cramped painfully and he curled up further, willing himself into the embrace of recharge.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> battles and revelations.

They left for the space bridge at precisely 4:00 am local time. The darkness of the early morning was both comforting yet foreboding, the clouded sky preventing the glint of moonlight off of polished chassis. The magnitude of the mission was an invisible weight pressing down on the group, and they travelled silently in their alt modes. The quiet was unnerving from a group usually so rambunctious.

They pulled to a stop as they reached the bottom of a precipice, tall and crumbling. The three mechs who comprised the small beta-unit; Mirage, Inferno, and Hoist transformed, nodding to their team mates before starting to scale the cliff wall. The larger group of Autobots remained in their alt modes, changing direction now that the infiltrators had separated from them, following the base of the cliff as it curved towards the horizon.

The beta sub-unit were headed for the space bridge itself, which was close to the shore, near where the nemesis was submerged. About a mile away from that, the Decepticons had set up a small base, specifically for supervising the space bridge’s operations, however, this base also doubled up as the Decepticon’s main energon storage. The plan depended on the Decepticon’s believing that taking out the energon was their main objective, whilst the second hidden team contacted the remaining Autobots on Cybertron.

They weren’t even half way there when Prowl started to tire. With his alt mode and previous occupation as an enforcer, he should have been one of the faster mechs in the army. He wasn’t Sideswipe or Sunstreaker fast, no, but right now, he was having to put everything he had into keeping up with Optimus leading their forces. He dared a glance at his fuel levels.

‘12%’

Prowl had to supress a hysterical laugh (or was it a cry?) at the figure. Whilst it was a number he secretly enjoyed seeing displayed on his HUD, it had the potential to be more than a liability for the upcoming mission. His battle computer that the army relied on, should circumstances change mid-battle, would be at threat from shutdown to conserve energy at a fuel level this low. The bombardment of the conflicting emotions made his spark churn inside his chassis.

No. He could – would pull himself together for this. He had to. He could fuel up after the battle was done. He had been lower than this before, not on a battlefield granted, but he could prove to both himself and the others that he could do this. Not like he really had a choice.

He slammed on suddenly, having not noticed the Prime had stopped. They had arrived.

They all transformed with no preamble, not speaking, and assumed their discussed positions. Prowl jogged, helm swimming at the shock of the sudden stop, until he joined the staggered semi-circle around the Deception’s base. It was a simple building, gun metal grey with only 1 floor and no windows. Prowls servos shook as he un-subspaced his rifle and stared at the target through the gun’s sight.

Comms couldn’t be used between the units, of course, but within each they would be critical. Optimus opened a general line, holding up his arm for all to see.

::NOW.:: was the command, and the wall of the base exploded.

 

~

The effect of Wheeljack’s bomb was immediate. Prowl fell to his aft as the ground shook violently, his audials ringing as the dust settled. It was a good thing he had fallen, as the next thing he registered was shots ringing over his head as the woken Decepticons, though small in number, had begun to retaliate, firing their weapons through their newly installed hole in the wall. He recovered fast, rolling to the side and seeking cover behind a nearby group of boulders alongside Bluestreak. The gunner grinned nervously at him, before poking the barrel of his sniper rifle back between two of the boulders and levelling a shot back towards the enemy. He hoisted his own weapon up, aimed and pulled the trigger, missing the building completely. _Damn…_

Without warning, a loud crashing sound came from behind the Decepticon’s base, halting the weapon fire back and forth.

Ah. That would be the reinforcements.

Prowl slammed onto the comms, breathless,::The main Decepticon forces have arrived. Take cover.::

“Prime!” Megatron bellowed, emerging from behind the splintered, smoking remains of the base wall, Soundwave and Starscream at his side.

The latter shrieked before Megatron could continue his tirade, “Autobots do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Yeah, you do look like you could use some beauty sleep, screamer.” Ironhide laughed, before dodging a null ray.

The Prime stepped forward, “Megatron, we don’t have to do this. I will offer again, let’s end this war, peacefully.”

The Decepticon leader was shaking with anger, “After you initiate a fight and attempt to destroy my armies fuel supply? Not a chance!”  

Prowl had to admit he had a point, from Megatron’s perspective it would seem they were trying to starve their army out. Megatron’s shouted reply was accompanied by a servo slamming into the Prime’s face. Not one to let their leaders have all the fun, the two sides resumed their fight in tandem, the clanging of fists and pings of weaponry even louder now the main body of Decepticons had arrived.

Prowl looked out from his makeshift bunker, battle computer primed and ready to fight.

_What?_

He could see the fuzzy forms of mechs moving in the distance. Whether the vague shapes were friend or foe couldn’t be clarified, as coloured plating danced in a haze. He had never had optic issues before. What was happening?

Prowl supressed the rising fear inside of him and pushed himself up, determined to get closer, determined to help. A surge of dizziness hit him unexpectedly and he staggered forward, painfully jarring a door wing as he crashed into another nearby boulder. He felt unsteady, but venting heavily he peered towards the action, vision having cleared slightly. He made a note of the relative positions of his mechs, feeding the data to his battle computer. Or so he tried. His HUD pinged back at him, but instead of probabilities or position changes it displayed the warning:

‘Battle computer non-functional – insufficient energy.’

True panic began to set in now. How could he protect the Autobots without his battle computer? Prowl’s servo clutched at his bumper as the pain in his chest, present since the beginning of the battle, began to flare. He had chalked it up to anxieties over what lay ahead, but the burn was becoming alarmingly real.

“Look what we’ve found here!” The voice was muffled but still managed to make his lines run cold. Skywarp. “Whats wrong Autobot? Not feeling so good?”

Prowl’s helm snapped up abruptly to see the purple seeker in all his glory, grin on his face and null rays humming dangerously.

“Stay back.” His voice was anything but convincing.

“Aww,” Skywarp started to advance on him, “But why should I Prowl, I wanna play!”

He jerked, swinging his rifle to aim at the purple mech, unable to stop the trembling of his arms.

Skywarp laughed, “Really having a bad day huh?” He ran full speed at the mech now, closing the distance between them, and before Prowl could react, he shoved him, hard. Prowl fell, dazed as his gun flung from his arms. He felt defenceless to the seeker’s games, his struts refusing to co-operate. He pleaded with them to please fight back, to do something other than lying there ineffectually. He managed to scramble back to his pedes, vents rasping as he narrowly avoided a blow. Skywarp raised his arm again, ready to try for another, when he was tackled suddenly to the ground by a blur of red.

Prowl crumpled too, the ground coming up to meet him. Every bolt in his frame hurt, despite the relief filling his frame at his apparent rescue. The relief didn’t last for long. What would become of the mission now if he wasn’t there to help, would the Autobots be okay? He was dimly aware of someone far away, and yet right next to him calling his name.

_I suppose this is what it’s like to die._

The thought was bizarrely humorous to the frail mech. He couldn’t see much anymore, all his senses were screaming too loudly inside of his hammering helm to comprehend, as he sunk deeper into the ground.

As his mind drifted closer to black, he realised the one thing he hadn’t accounted for in the days of meticulous planning for the success of this mission. He hadn’t accounted for himself.

 

~

It was 3 minutes into the battle when they first started to realise something was wrong.

::Prowl, how far out should we be going?:: The fact that Ironhide even had to ask was unusual. Typically, Prowl’s monotone instructions were a constant over the din of the fight. When he didn’t reply after a minute and a half, Ironhide tried again.

::Come in Prowl, how far out should we go?::

Again, silence. Concerned, Ironhide switched from the officer’s comm line to the general, sending out a calm, ::Anyone got optics on Prowl?::

It was Beachcomber who answered, ::I last saw him over by Bluestreak.::

::He’s not with me now!:: Bluestreak replied, sounding out of breath.

Optimus jumped in, the distraction of his missing SIC giving Megatron an opening. ::Unff,:: He grunted at a blow to the abdomen. ::Come in, Prowl. What is your location.::

Jazz was listening to the comm’s, of course, even whilst grappling with Breakdown. He opted for Prowl’s private channel, something he hadn’t done since their argument.

::Prowler, you alright?::

::I see him!:: Cliffjumper practically shouted over the comms. ::He’s with Skywarp 300 or so meters north east of the base, looks like could use some backup.::

::We’ve got him.:: Sideswipe was deadly serious as both he and Sunstreaker abandoned their individual fights and sprinted across the battlefield.

A scream shifted everybot’s focus. Blaster fell to his knees as Soundwave managed to rip his arm clean off. Tracks ran to help his friend, but he was dive tackled by Dirge.

::I’m going for Blaster,:: Ratchet sent, already running, ::Cover me!::

Smokescreen was scrambling, sending out hesitant comms, attempting to manage their forces in Prowl’s absence.

::Bumblebee, team up with, er, team up with Seaspray to take down Ramjet.::

::Smokescreen,:: Powerglide pinged him, ::Should I go aerial?::

::Yes – wait, no, stay grounded!:: Before he had finished his response to Powerglide, Wheeljack was on another line. Smokescreen didn’t have the experience for this. His spark was pounding with his efforts, there was no way he could get the Autobots through this with minimal casualties.

The Decepticons were beginning to push the advantage, the confusion of their tactical department leaving the Autobot forces in chaos. Smokescreen was no match for Soundwave, and he knew it. He opened a line to Optimus Prime.

::Optimus, Sir, we are getting slaughtered out here, we need to pull back. I- I can’t do this..::

A moment after Optimus received Smokescreen’s message, he received another from a panicking Mirage.

::Sir, we’ve been discovered. I don’t know what happened, but we had to abort the mission.::

Optimus’ spark clenched in worry. They had planned it all so well, what could have possibly gone so wrong? Swinging at Megatron with all his strength, the Prime pushed away from his enemy calling out both aloud and over the comms as he ran.

“Autobots, retreat. Fall back!”

~

Closing the comm lines, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker pelted across to Prowl’s reported location. A flash of black and white behind a large rock, ah, there he was! A flash of purple confirmed what Cliffjumper had already asserted.

The Lamborghinis watched, still running, as Prowl stumbled away from Skywarp, just missing a blow. Prowl should have more than been able to take him, was he injured? No matter the cause, the SIC needed an assist right now, the seeker was raising his fist ready to bring it crashing down.

Sideswipe slammed into Skywarp, the mech crying out in pain as his delicate wings bent on contact with the unyielding ground.

“Picking on a downed bot? Pathetic.” Sideswipe spat. He was vaguely aware of Prowl collapsing into Sunny’s arms behind him.

Skywarp sobbed, “My– AH– my wings, please!”

Sideswipe heard their leader call for a retreat, but he leant more of his weight against the downed mech, relishing in the whimper it caused. “Not nice is it! Being kicked while you’re down.”

“Sideswipe get off him. Something’s wrong.” For Sunstreaker to tell him to leave a fight, it must have been severe. He pushed off the sobbing mech, shoving him towards his comrades.

“What’s wro—Primus.”

Sunstreaker was sat, staring the black and white mech in his arms. Prowl was completely limp, the edges of his paint turning grey. If it wasn’t for his rapid hitched vents, Sideswipe would have thought he was dead.

“Prowl, boot up Prowl, c’mon you can’t go like this.” Sideswipe shook him before opening up a direct line to Ratchet.

::Ratchet come in, something’s wrong.::  
::Is it worse than trying to stop Blaster’s arm bleeding out?::

::Prowl is greying.::

Ratchet cursed and passed Blaster over to Hoist, before setting off at a run. ::Bring him here, as fast as you can.::

Sunstreaker gently scooped his lifeless commander into a bridal hold, and ran as fast as he dared towards the rest of the army. Prowl was much lighter than he expected, his arms not at all straining to hold him. The twins met with Ratchet halfway to the destroyed base, the Prime not far behind. The medic started scanning Prowl before he had the chance to even lay him down, and he gasped before ramming his cable into Prowl’s medical port.

“He’s – dear Primus.” To see Ratchet lost for words was chilling. “He’s on 7%, I don’t know how he’s alive. I need someone for a transfusion, NOW.”

Agonising worry plastered on his faceplate, Optimus stepped forward, “I will.”

“No Prime, I need your trailer, Sunstreaker give me your arm.” The golden mech didn’t complain as Ratchet silently jabbed a tube into his arm, and started connecting him to Prowl. Sideswipe crouched, gripping his twin’s shoulder in silent support.

“What’s wrong with him Ratchet? I can’t see any injuries.”

“I don’t know, there’s nothing that should have caused his fuel levels to drop this low.”

By now other members of the crew had gathered around, the Decepticons apparently having cleared off. Concern was evident on their faceplates as they whispered between one another. Bluestreak took one look at his mentor and burst into tears.

“Prowl! Prowl no, you can’t offline, I need you!” Jazz pulled the weeping gunner into his arms, stroking his helm and whispering to him, “It’ll be okay sweetspark, he’ll be okay, Ratchet’ll fix im’.” The sentiment wasn’t purely for Bluestreak. Watching his friend – the mech he loved, fading away to grey in front of his own optics was frankly devastating. He had seen so much death in this war, but Prowl had always been a constant, and seemingly unstoppable force. What if he offlined before Jazz had a chance to fix their friendship? He worked the knot in his throat as he watched Ratchet carefully load him into the Prime’s trailer and speed off. He forced himself to tear his attention from Prowl, instructing the others to journey back.

 

~

Prowl awoke with a start. He felt overcharged and sluggish, the point where the needle forcing energon into his lines entered his arm throbbed irritatingly.

Wait, needle?

He sat up, too quickly as it turned out, his helm swam and he had to grip the berth for a moment to steady himself. He was in the medbay, that much was clear, a private room by the looks of it, so he must have been hurt pretty bad. He couldn’t quite recall.

He pulled up his HUD, first and foremost checking his fuel levels.

43%

He could have screamed. Months. He had worked for months to get as low as he did, why would they do this to him? He reached with his servo, frustrated at his lack of co-ordination the probable cocktail of medical drugs had reduced him to, and started to pull at the tape keeping the needle firmly inside him. He felt sick just looking at it. He could almost feel the disgusting fluid draining into him, filling his lines. He cried out in frustration, struggling to remove the tape, doubling his efforts.

He heard a voice yelling, “Hey, stop that!” And suddenly there were servos on him, pinning him down, 2 or 3 sets. He looked away from his arm, into the faces of Ratchet, Optimus and – his spark skipped a beat, Jazz.

“Prowl, please stop fighting.” Optimus’ voice was pained, and Prowl stilled against the berth.

“Why am I here, what happened.” His voice was rough and full of static.

Ratchet motioned for the others to release his arms. “Your fuel levels were critically low Prowl, you collapsed mid battle.”

His words jolted the memories to the forefront of his processor. Not being able to see, Skywarp attacking him and then nothing. “How low?” He had to know. He didn’t care if Ratchet knew right now, he had to know just how low he had gotten.

“Low enough it could have killed you.”

“Yes, but what number?”

Ratchet quirked an optic ridge. “7%, does it matter?

“No.” He lied. _7%!_ The number made him feel giddy. “Was the mission a success.”

No one answered him. A wave of guilt slammed into him, _his fault,_ his processor screamed _._ It hurt too much right now, so he focused on the number.

Optimus sighed, unable to meet his SIC’s optics, “We are taking you off the duty roster until we can sort…whatever this is out.”

Outrage bubbled inside of him at this. “That’s not fair, you have no right!”

Ratchet snarled, “He is your leader, he has every right.”

Jazz spoke up for the first time since he entered the room. “Calm down mechs, how about we let Prowler here explain what is going on.”

“Nothing. Nothing is going on.” Prowl felt sucker punched by the number of emotions going through his helm. Ratchet unsubspaced a cube and held it out to him.

“Drink this then.”

They knew, they all knew. Prowl wanted to disappear. “I still feel sick from the medication you have me on.”

“Drink it Prowl.”

“No, I’ll be sick.”

The medic didn’t back down. “Drink it Prowl, or I swear to Primus you are _never_ leaving this room.”

“Fine.” Prowl grit his denta and took the cube. Suddenly it was flying over the medic’s helm and smashing into the wall behind him. Sticky globs dripped down the wall whilst Optimus and Jazz were openly stunned into silence. Ratchet saw red.

“What the frag Prowl!” He shouted. “I’ve checked the dispenser logs, you haven’t fuelled regularly for months, we know you’re doing this on purpose. You could have offlined, you put yourself and everybody else in danger!”

“I KNOW!” Prowl roared, watching the medic’s optics widen in astonishment. Prowl never shouted. “Don’t you think I know that? Its…Its all too much, everything, _everything_ , is riding on me. No matter if 100 are killed, or just 10, those deaths are on me.” Optic fluid started to spill over and trickle down his cheeks as he continued. “I have to work, I have to do my best to keep you all safe. I have to.” He stared down at the berth.

“Oh, Prowl.” Optimus looked close to tears himself. He reached out a servo to hold Prowl’s.

The mech recoiled, as if burned. “No. Don’t touch me!”

No one spoke, so Prowl did.

“I want to go my quarters, please let me go. I’ll refuel I promise, I just don’t want to be here anymore.” They remained in silence as Ratchet unhooked Prowl from various machines and he made his unsteady journey out of the medbay.

 

~

A few hours after Prowl’s outburst in the medbay, Jazz had finally worked up the courage to go and talk to his friend. He had felt fragging awful since Ratchet had shown them the dispenser logs. How had he not noticed his friend was hurting so much? Now, the mass loss, the overworking, the training, so many things he had brushed off as ‘Prowl being Prowl’, made an awful lot more sense. He stood outside Prowl’s hab, hesitating over the buzzer. Shaking himself internally, he committed, pressing down. It took 26 agonising seconds for Prowl’s door to whoosh open. Primus he looked exhausted.

“Jazz? What are you doing here?” The mech sounded understandably surprised to see Jazz, though he hid it well in his expression.

Unsure of what to say, Jazz swallowed before starting. “I’m sorry Prowl, I’m sorry I didn’ realise, and that I didn’ help. Yer’ my best friend.”

For a moment, Jazz thought he was going to get the door slammed in his face, but the next, Prowl was holding him in a tight hug whispering, “I miss you.” Into his audial.

 

The two talked until the moon was high in the sky, mostly papering over the past 5 months. They ended the night in Prowls berth, in the most platonic way possible, simply clinging to each other as they slipped into recharge. Prowl’s plating was cold, Jazz noted, another side effect of low energon. He made himself comfortable, his helm resting against Prowl’s bumper so that he could drift of listening to the slightly unsteady rhythm of the mech’s still pulsing spark.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bit of a longer one, I felt it needed to be, should have 2-3 chapters left!


	9. Chapter 9

“Get up, what do you think you’re doing?”

Prowl started slightly, but didn’t turn at the voice from the door. Instead he opted to stare down at the mess pooling in the drain in front of him.

“Get out.” His words were punctuated and hard. He knew it was futile, Ratchet was already bodily pulling him away from his wash racks, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to fight it. He wasn’t strong enough to break away from the medic’s grasp, but he dug his heels in hard.

Ratchet heaved, intaking heavily through his vents. “Stop fighting me! You know I can’t let you do that.”

It had taken them almost a week to work out why he wasn’t gaining mass despite being forced to consume a lot more energon. It was only when they caught him scooping out weeks’ worth of regurgitated fuel from the drain under his wash racks, did they put two and two together. Prowl hadn’t realised there was a blockage until the heat of the summer sun had curdled the congealed mass in the pipes, by which point the stench was overwhelming.

Pushing him to sit on the berth, Ratchet crouched as he stared sadly at the other mech. They had been good colleagues, and even better friends before Prowl’s illness had taken hold.

Truth was, the constant fighting and forcing Prowl to fuel was taking its toll on Ratchet. On more than one occasion he had broken down over it, late at night when no one could see. He was a doctor, he was supposed to help people, but all he was doing for Prowl was keeping him barley alive and miserable. He was at a total loss of what to do.

 “Open, please.”

Prowl glared, but opened his intake and waited, as Ratchet unsubspaced a small torch and shined it into his mouth. They had discovered deep lacerations on Prowl’s throat lining. The chemicals present in a mech’s fuel tank were strong, and coming into contact with the delicate lining often had led to some quite serious damage.

“Hmm,” Ratchet hummed, clicking the torch off. “You haven’t aggravated these too badly, but a few more rounds of that and you could rupture your intake – hey,” he snapped as Prowl rolled his optics, “Don’t give me that, this is serious. What percentage are you on.”

Prowl didn’t respond, gaze fixed firmly to the floor. He felt guilty for the way he was acting, he really did. He knew he was hurting the bots he cared for. But the months he had spent hiding everything behind a mask had exhausted him. It was worse now everyone knew, they were treating him either like glass, and tiptoeing around him, or like a selfish fragger who deserved no pity. Prowl couldn’t decide which he despised the least.

He felt the tingle of a scan washing over him, Ratchet clearly having given up on him freely offering the information.

“31% damn it Prowl,” He muttered angrily, “Tell me how I can help you.” It was their daily back and forth that neither mech won. He didn’t know why Ratchet still bothered, Prowl wasn’t worth his time or effort.

“Give me some work to do.”

Ratchet looked at him with a dubious expression. “Do you really think you’re up to working in this condition?”

“I worked perfectly fine for months like this, I want to do more than sit around and fucking fuel.” Prowl spat, the human expletive stressed his words quite nicely.

Ratchet snorted, “Not a chance until you start actually consuming it.” The pair locked optics, glaring. A sudden whoosh from the door opening broke the standoff, as their helms turned to the newcomer.

“Hey Prowl! Oh, hello Ratchet, sorry am I interrupting? Should I go?”

Ratchet pushed himself to standing, joints squeaking as he did. “No, we were just finished Blue, come on in.”

The younger mech bounced towards Prowl, doorwings bobbing. Ratchet took this as his cue to leave, grimacing slightly at Bluestreak’s exclaimed, “Oh, your servos are freezing Prowl!” Before the door shut behind him.

He leaned heavily against the bulkhead of the corridor, helm tilted back as he let out a deep sigh through his vents. How in the pit was he supposed to fix this?

 

~

Prowl groaned as the hazy warmth surrounding him was replaced with the harsh cool air of his berth room, as the blanket was pulled away.

“Wakey wakey!” Jazz’s too cheerful voice filtered through to him, as he tried to smoosh his faceplate further into the pillow. “C’mon Prowler, its morning time!”

Said mech whined, but pushed himself up to sitting. Opening his optics, Jazz’s slag eating grin filled his vision.

“I don’t know what you possibly have to look so happy about this early.” Prowl shoved playfully at his friend before he was tackled into a hug. “H-Hey! Let me up!” He felt suddenly self-conscious of his still angular frame as Jazz held him close. He automatically checked his fuel levels, ‘28%.’

Jazz laughed, but pulled himself back. “See you’re not a morning mech, eh?”

Prowl’s spark felt warm at his friends smile. He smiled back, “Some would say that _you_ are the strange one.”

Jazz had taken to recharging in Prowl’s habsuite, keeping a close watch over his fellow officer’s condition, and letting him leech of his heat during the night. The arrangement worked well, _they_ worked well, if it wasn’t for – Prowl cut off the thought abruptly. He had been down that path before. Where he was right now, he would only cause Jazz unduly worry and stress if they were anything more…there was no use in teasing himself with the whispered thoughts of ‘what if.’

Jazz’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. “Heh, I’m sure many would. How ya feeling anyway, Prowler?”

“Tired, if I’m honest. Optimus is treating me like I could break at any moment, and Bluestreak, Oh Bluestreak is killing me.”

“What’s he doin? Do I need to have a word?” Jazz’s smile was neutral, but his words were laced with ice.

“No, it’s nothing like that.” Prowl assured him. “He gets upset a lot when he sees me, and then he asks me to fuel up for his sake. You know I would do anything for him, but its,” he struggled to find the words, “It’s not about him, or anyone else. I just…can’t.” He settled on the half explanation, shrugging as he stared down at his knees.

“It’ll be alright, the lil’ bit just doesn’t like seeing you like this. None of us do y’know.” Jazz grasped Prowl’s chin with his digits, tilting it up until their optics met. “C’mon, I’ve got a shift to get to, and you promised me you’d go to the rec room,” he carried on quickly before Prowl could protest, “I didn’t say you had to fuel, but you _promised_ me you’d try.”

Prowl nodded in acquiescence, “I’ll go.” He stood up from the berth and wobbled. Jazz quickly grabbed at his shoulders, not letting go as the scrawny mech vented heavily, leaning on Jazz until his equilibrium stabilised.

“Sorry, I’m low,” he managed to get out after a minute.

Jazz snorted, humourlessly, “Mech, you’re always low,” his voice sobered, “Please try Prowl.”

“I will,” was the whispered reply.

 

~

Standing outside the rec room door, Prowl’s fuel tank was a pit of anxiety, _and hunger..._ the thought drummed around inside his helm though he refused to acknowledge it.

He had been to the rec room since he had collapsed, of course, but he had always been shepherded by Jazz, Optimus or at least Ratchet. Today however, he was alone. Taking one last deep vent, he stepped close enough to the doors for the sensor to register, they opened, and he walked inside as confidently as he could manage.

It was between shifts, almost but not quite the end of the first of the morning. As a result, the tables and chairs were mostly empty, only a handful of bots occupying them. This came as a relief to Prowl. If he took a corner table, away from the rest of the mechs in the room, he could fuel up without the judging looks, or the sympathetic glances that made the entire, already unpleasant, event all the more dreadful. He retrieved a cube, his cheeks tinged pink. On the short trip from the dispenser to the furthermost corner table, he tried to remind himself of his promise to Jazz, and of how Ratchet had told him over and over that he deserved the fuel.

“Don’t know why you’re hiding away back there, feeling all sorry for yourself.” Prowl faltered at the shout, sinking low into the chair. He said nothing.

“You could at least reply, your slaggin’ antics nearly offlined me! Oh, sorry yer arms fallen off Blaster,” his voice had become a shrill mimic, “but yer commander is too fraggin’ busy killing himself for attention—“

“Shut up right now before I actually give you something to complain about.” Prowls head snapped over to the other side of the room. Sunstreaker was in the tape deck’s face, looking so angry that for a moment Prowl thought he was going to hit him.

Apparently, Blaster didn’t get the warning. “And why should I dandelion? You can’t tell me you’re fine with him pulling this slag. It’s pathetic, why can’t he just take his fuel normally like the rest of us?”

Before Sunstreaker could move an inch, Red Alert of all mechs stood between the two, facing Blaster. His stature was almost comically small compared to the other mechs.  

“You think he’s doing what he’s doing out of some kind of vengeance? He needs us right now, the same way I did over the Negavator. You want him to be normal? None of us are fragging normal anymore, most of us have nightmares and demons of some sort.” He smiled sadly at the silent mech, who was looking rather guilty now. “I know what you all think of me, that I’m crazy. But you forget, I’m a higher rank than you, and the way you just spoke to your second in command was unacceptable. Apologise, then get your aft to the brig. That’s an order.”

The outburst was dramatic, unavoidably so, but it pushed the point. Blaster choked out an apology in Prowl’s direction, before briskly walking out of the room.  Sunstreaker was staring at the security mech like he had two helms, but followed him silently when the shorter mech pulled at his arm.

The two came to Prowl’s corner table, sandwiching the embarrassed mech between them.

“Red,“ he was at a loss for words, “Thank you.” It seemed that maybe more mechs than he had considered, gave a frag after all.

Red Alert nodded, “This war has gone on for too long.”

The atmosphere in the rec room picked up a little after this. The first shift ending triggered a fresh influx of mechs chattering and gossiping as they collected their rations. The ambience was soothing. Inferno joined their table, and Prowl couldn’t help but smile at the adoring look he threw Red Alert’s way. Their officially non-official relationship was the worst kept secret of the army. It was nice to see some happiness after the millennia of destruction.

Prowl’s spark gave a sudden pang as he thought about what could have been with Jazz, but he brushed it away. _Atleast he’s still my friend…_ The thought gave him little comfort. He stared at his untouched cube for a distraction.

He eyed his fuel levels again, ‘26%’ now. Ducking his helm, he pulled the cube to his intake, and let the smallest of gulps slip down his throat. No one commented, or even glanced, Primus bless them. But he still placed the cube down after the initial taste. It was a start, he supposed.

The four of them stayed there, Prowl comfortably tucked away behind the larger frame of Sunstreaker, until the emergency siren went off. The alarm was so unexpected that no bot moved for a good 10 seconds. Then the room was alive. Mechs were clambering over each other to get to the exit.

Red Alert turned to Prowl, optics wide with panic. “B-but it’s too soon!” He was right. Usually the Decepticons didn’t launch another raid after a previous altercation with the Autobots, for an average of 7 earth weeks, the previous shortest time having been 4 weeks and 2 days. The current date however, was just 13 days after the failed mission to use the space bridge.

There was an audible beep, as Teletraan I sent a general ping containing the co-ordinates of the enemy to the army. The Decepticons were located just a mile away from the Ark.

Prowl jumped up, pulling Red Alert with him. The security mech’s sensory horns were beginning to flicker. He shouted over the din, “Prowl, they’re—“

“I know.” He interrupted, tone grave. “They’re up to something, this is far from their typical tactics.”

His fuel levels, though low, were high enough now for his battle computer to be functional, and he was running as many threads through it as could possibly be achieved.

What were they planning?

Optimus stopped him just before he exited the Ark, “Prowl, you stay here.”

He felt that irrational anger bubble to the surface again. “Optimus, no, I will not have you all running off without a plan!” He felt his vocaliser run away with him, “I’m not a human, I’m not made of glass, nor am I a sparkling. I am a soldier, let me do my job.”

“As a soldier, your job is to follow your commander’s orders,” Prowl flinched at the Prime’s ire, something he had never had levelled at him. “You are in no condition to fight, you are to stay here and monitor the proceedings from afar with Red Alert.”

“I’m sorry, Sir.” And with that, Prowl disobeyed a direct order, transformed and sped off after the rest of the crew.

It was stupid, beyond stupid, and likely the most reckless thing he had done in his entire existence. His spark was pounding in his chest.

_I can’t believe I just did that!_

His leader’s clipped voice came through on his comm. ::I will deal with this when we return to base. You are to stay well clear of the fight zone and monitor from there.::

~

2 minutes later, they spotted the Decepticons, small in number, at the edge of the thick forest. Again, something was off. They were being led by Soundwave and Starscream’s trine, there was no sign of Megatron.

Had Starscream finally overthrown his leader?

Throwing himself behind a tree, still able to see the two armies, Prowl’s battle computer was on overdrive as he sent out a message to his comrades.

::It is likely that they do not intend to fight. Attempt to engage in discussion first.::

::Prowler what the frag are you doing out here?:: Jazz hissed down his private line. He ignored it.

“Autobot’s, we wish to make a trade.” Starscream’s voice boomed across the clearing.

“What is it you wish to offer?” Good, the Prime was following his advice. Hopefully, they could end today with no fighting and therefore, no casualties.

“Prowl,” the deep voice came from behind him, and was accompanied by a large hand on his arm.

He turned and stared right into the optics of Megatron himself.

He tried to reach for his weapon but he was too slow, the feared leader of the Decepticon army pinned his arms to the tree behind him with ease. He went for his comm, but found to his horror that his signals were being blocked. He opted for shouting instead, but Megatron’s other hand clamped down over his intake, silencing him.

His battle computer was screaming, but he tried to ignore the damning figure of 96.8% chance of termination, struggling as much as he could in the hold.

“Stop, I do not intend to hurt you.” It was then Prowl realised that the war lord’s grip was gentle, stilling but not disabling. He froze, vents fast as he tried to figure a way out of this. Co-operation seemed like his best bet for the moment.

As soon as Megatron removed the hand from Prowl’s intake, he demanded the war lord, “What do you want?”

“Listen, I don’t have much time, Starscream is too incompetent to keep Prime busy for much longer,” he was right, Prowl could hear the discussion again now he wasn’t fearing for his life, it sounded tense. Megatron continued, “The Decepticons can take you in, if you want to. You don’t have to fight for us, but we wouldn’t treat you the way your _leader_ ,” he spat the word disdainfully, “has opted to treat you.”

Prowl gaped, “What?”

The mech seemed truly enraged. “Disciplining your troops is one thing, but _starving_ them? Unacceptable.”

Oh. _Oh Primus._

He felt suddenly very protective. “My leader would never do that to any bot, not even a Decepticon. He’s a good mech. Maybe if you spoke with more than just your fists you’d realise that.”

Megatron looked at him for a very long moment before he spoke. “You…” the words caught in his vocaliser, “You did this to yourself?”

Prowl never got a chance to answer. A cacophony of noise blasted, as Optimus Prime, in all his glory, slammed into the Decepticon leader.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters are getting longer and longer, oops.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The start of the end. Physical and mental battles all around. What is the best solution to it all?

An embarrassingly high-pitched yelp left Megatron’s vocaliser. Both mechs were sent sprawling to the ground at the sheer force of the war lord’s arms being violently ripped away. Prowl recovered quickly, ignoring a sudden shrieking pain from the area he had landed on. He rolled to avoid the grappling pair beside him. His vents were burning and that was definitely energon he could feel lazily dripping from the new hole in his left side. He felt sick.

“What sort of deception is this?” Optimus had used his opponent’s shock to his advantage, and was pinning Megatron to the floor.

“Clues in the name,” He grunted, bucking as he tried to gain leverage, “Get up, you fool!”

They were almost matched in strength, both intimately familiar with their rival’s technique, and so the grappling soon devolved into more of a tug-of-war.

Still sat on the ground, Prowl found his view of the two suddenly obscured, as the brawny red legs of Ironhide filled his vision.

“Let ‘im have it, Prime!” The red mech growled, in complete contrast to the more soft, ::Stay back, Prowl.:: he sent via the comms. If it wasn’t for more pressing matters, he would have been offended at the treatment. He didn’t need protecting, that was _his_ job.

“Optimus stop! He wasn’t trying to harm me.” Prowl shouted past the legs. He felt frantic as potential casualty statistics flashed on his HUD, (alongside the 23% fuel level graphic), an all too close reality if he couldn’t shut this down, “We don’t need to fight.”

Seemingly, the Prime felt his apprehension too. He pushed off the silver mech to stand a few feet away, his back to Prowl, protecting his troops. His stance remained threatening as Megatron righted himself. The Decepticon leader’s expression was sour, but it was clear he was flustered. He managed to keep his deep voice steady.

“This is merely a misunderstanding.”

“What the frag do you mean a misunderstanding? Explain yourself!” Optimus Prime’s voice was the opposite to Megatron’s, his fury cracking through the rough edges.

Megatron briefly glanced away from him for the first time since they had started fighting, noting the circle of soldiers that had now formed around them. Despite the Decepticon’s reputation for bloodlust, he was no idiot. He could not waste valuable resources over a mere mix-up.

His wandering gaze settled upon the small figure of Prowl, still on the ground, partially blocked by the Prime’s walking canon. The mech’s face was a mixture of fear and embarrassment. Red optics met blue, just for a moment, intensity flaring in them both.

“Answer me!” The Prime’s patience was hanging by a thread, thrusting himself to the forefront of attention.

Megatron snarled, “I said it was a misunderstanding. Leave it at that unless you wish to risk battle.”

There was a moment of silence before Optimus nodded, ending the fierce standoff. “The Autobots will stand down.” His tone made it evident this was an order. Prowl visibly sagged in relief at his words. Everyone ignored the outraged shout from the trigger happy Cliffjumper. Megatron faced his enemy for a moment longer before turning away.

“Decepticons, return to base.” He called, and all the Autobots were surprised when they silently complied, not even Starscream kicking up a fuss. The tension remaining in the air dissipated as the Decepticons disappeared from sight. 

Optimus let out a shaky ex-vent behind his battle mask. He pivoted, watching as Ironhide offered his servo to help Prowl up. It was hard to stop the tremors of his plating, still primed and ready to fight. Watching Megatron overpower his SIC had thrown his systems into an overdrive he was struggling to come down from completely. He was at an absolute loss of what to do with Prowl, his army, and how to deal with what-in-Primus’-name Megatron was up to. Pinching at his nasal ridge, he decided to deal with all pressing questions once back at the Ark.

“Autobots, back to base.”

 

~

Megatron paced a large circle on the floor of the bridge of the Nemesis. Only he and Soundwave remained, the others keeping within a large perimeter of his ire. He suddenly rounded on his third, brow furrowed as he bellowed into his faceplate.

“SOUNDWAVE.”

The tape deck merely lifted his helm, “Yes, lord Megatron.”

“Explain.”

“All intel pointed t—“

“THE INTEL WAS WRONG!” He shook with anger.

“Yes, lord Megatron.”

The repetition and simple format in which Soundwave presented the truth, made something inside of him snap. Megatron slammed his fist into a console, sparks flying as circuits failed, before he sent a nearby chair hurtling towards a wall.

Soundwave didn’t so much as flinch.

“Get out. Get out NOW! Before I do something I regret.” Megatron stood glaring at the damage he had caused, trying to get his vents under control. Thank Primus that he’d had the hindsight to order Starscream to his labs, before they had even arrived back to the Nemesis. He distantly registered the bridge door whooshing shut.

He felt blindsided. How could they all have been so wrong? After presuming the mech to be a victim for months, it was hard to revoke sympathy for the Autobot second-in-command.

Part of him, deep down, knew exactly where he had gone wrong. He had been too inwardly focused. He had seen a part of himself he refused to acknowledge inside the damaged mech. He had seen the starving young miner he had once been, hidden away in the dark. He thought he could save Prowl unlike how no one had ever come to save him. But Prowl wasn’t a younger him. Optimus Prime had been the enemy in this story he had created, the whip handler, the oppressor. But he had seen the look of fear in the Prime’s optics when he had the tactician in his grasp. He had felt the waves of _protectprotectprotect_ in both his words and actions. It was the fierce devotion to his leader from Prowl himself that had finally convinced him.

Optimus’s actions weren’t that of a true oppressor. Megatron had been wrong.

The leader of the Decepticons huffed a deep vent through his intakes. Still conflicted, but no longer about to burst a gasket over a mech who was punishing himself. He sat heavily into a chair he hadn’t destroyed, deep in thought.

 

~

Optimus Prime’s pede steps were loud against the comparative silence of the private medbay room. Prowl looked up from where he was lying, pillows supporting the fresh mesh bandages covering his wounded side. The tall mech kept his expression blank, standing at the foot of the med-berth.

“How are your injuries?”

“They are minor. Ratchet is only keeping me in because of the energon loss.” Prowl gestured to the energon drip feeding into his arm. Optimus noted how stiff the arm was, and how he held it away from his frame, in what was likely an uncomfortable position, as if that would stop the liquid from entering.

“I’m glad to hear that.” He ex-vented, coming around to sit next to Prowl’s good side on the berth. He took the smaller servo in his own, trying to relax him.

“Look, you need to stop doing this Prowl. You can’t save everyone, you don’t have to be alone in this.” He was still angry, more so at the situation that Prowl himself, but it was still an incredibly stupid move on his tactician’s behalf to follow them into battle. His frustration over it all was hard to keep down.

“So,” He continued as the other just stared, “What did he want?” And when Prowl looked down guiltily, “Come on, out with it.”

“Megatron was under the impression…”

“Yes?”

“That…you were depriving me.” _of fuel_ , went unspoken, but the implication was evident.

Optimus hummed in understanding, squeezing Prowl’s servo. “I see. Did you dispel him of this notion?”

Prowl smirked at his old friend, “I was in the middle of doing so when you slagged him.” And he couldn’t help but let a small smile grace his own faceplate. But he reined himself back, reminding himself why he was here.

“There’s still the fact that you blatantly disobeyed orders.”

Prowl felt hot at the guilt, not forgetting their altercation before they left the Ark. “I apologise profusely Sir. I will accept any punishment you deem suitable.”

“Ordinarily, seeing as this is your first offence, I would give you an official warning and monitor duty. Seeing as we are talking about _you,_ however, I think I can let it slide,” Prowl went to open his intake, “BUT, only on the condition that you don’t fight Ratchet while you’re in here, he doesn’t need that.”

Prowl nodded, “I will do my best.”

At that moment, a black helm popped through the door.

“S’up mechs! Am I interrupting?”

“Hello Jazz.” Optimus was pleased to see Prowl perk up at the saboteur’s entrance.

Jazz came bounding over to Prowl’s bedside thrusting a small bundle of colourful earth plants towards him.

Optimus raised his brow at the gift, “What _is_ that?”

“Flowers!” Jazz said, “Customary Earth gift for when yer sick.”

Prowl looked confused, “But I am not sick.”

Jazz shrugged. “Sick, injured, same difference.” He pushed the bouquet towards him again and Prowl took it.

“Thank you. I appreciate the gesture. They are—lovely.” He settled on. Though the change in his expression was slight, his optics practically beamed up at Jazz from the berth. Jazz beamed back. The Autobot leader couldn’t help the warming of his spark at the pair, they clearly cared for each other. It was such a shame, everything the war kept them from.

 

~

Starscream sauntered slowly through the corridors of the Nemesis towards his destination. If his _leader_ was going to demand his presence half way through his recharge cycle, then he was going to damn well take his time. He pinged Megatron’s office door. It opened immediately and he entered, hands on hips, silhouette outlined dramatically through the open door.

He rolled his optics. “You called?”

“Yes, get in here.” Clearly Megatron wasn’t in the mood for his second’s attitude.

“Alright, Primus!” He dropped the sass, seating himself on the visitor’s chair. “Who purged in your energon? What do you want?”

“As my second in command, what I _want,_ is your honest opinion.”

Starscream’s red optics widened in surprise, then narrowed in suspicion. “You want _my_ opinion? Why not Soundwave’s?”

Megatron grumbled reluctantly, “Soundwave is brilliant, but only you hate me enough, and have the processor enough to give me proper critique.”

That brought a wicked grin to the seeker’s faceplate.  “Why, mighty Megatron, have you finally realised that you need me?”

“Don’t push your luck.” Megatron snapped, and Starscream snickered. “Tell me, honestly, what do you think of our chances, here on Earth. Not just the Decepticons, but our species?”

Starscream looked taken aback. He was quiet as he sat back in his seat, appearing deep in thought. When he spoke, his voice was more serious than Megatron had heard in eons.

“I think that we will fail.” He paused, watching for Megatron’s reaction. When the silver mech didn’t shout, Starscream continued, “There are so few of us left. We have no resources, no plan, nothing. The Autobots don’t have much either, but they have more than the scrap we are left with. We are too close of a match, I—“ His vocaliser caught, “I believe our species will end itself, long before either side wins.”

There was stillness between them, neither speaking nor looking at each other for a good 20 seconds. Megatron broke the silence, shifting his large frame in his seat.

“Thank you for your honesty Starscream, you are dismissed.” Said mech didn’t retort with his usual cheek, he merely nodded before he exited the office.

Megatron internally snorted, that had practically been polite, which coming from Starscream, was a truly rare sight.

 

~

 “Mechs, c’mon we are making real leeway here on Earth.” Jazz practically yelled in frustration at the officer’s present.

“ _Unsustainable_ leeway.” Ratchet retorted cynically, crossing his arms under his windshield. “If we take one more bad hit, bots are going to start dying from lack of basic medical equipment.”

Perceptor hummed sadly in agreement. “Realistically, we only have enough resources available to defend. Unless the situation changes, we simply cannot afford to launch an offensive attack.”

“So, we wait the Decepticons out.” Optimus tried, pushing false positivity into his voice. “We have more resources available to us than their army does. We can wait until they are down enough that they will be willing to accept peace.”

At this, even Ironhide had to shake his head. “That could take decades, Prime. Do you really think we would last that long?”

Blaster spoke the words every bot in the room was too afraid to. “We should leave Earth.”

“No!” Wheeljack yelled reflexively, helm fins a deep blue. “Where else would we go? Cybertron is gone, _this_ is our only home now.”

“What else can we fragging do?” Blaster barked back, throwing his servos up. “We’re running on fumes. We barley have enough energon to keep Teletraan operatin’!  Frag, we don’t even have a functioning tactical department anymore, how are we supposed to take them down?”

Jazz’s visor flashed at him from across the table, defending Prowl in his absence, daring Blaster to finish that sentence. Prime placed a servo over Jazz’s shoulder to calm him.

“When are we going to tell the lower ranks?” Red Alert’s voice sounded lost. The only response was the sound of the door unexpectedly jumping open.

“Sideswipe!” Ratchet yelled, as the young mech ran into the room. “You know perfectly well you are not allowed to be here, get out!”

The front liner shook his helm, trying to slow his vents, “No—you don’t understand! You’ve got to come now!

“Come where?” Optimus’ booming voice took command in the face of his soldier’s distress.

“The bridge. Megatron is calling!”

 

~

Prowl heard the thunder of multiple sets of pedes storming past, outside the heavy medbay doors. The emergency siren wasn’t blasting, and he hadn’t heard a tell-tale boom of one of Wheeljack’s experiments gone wrong. So why did it sound like half the crew were darting through the ship?

Curiosity got the better of him. Quickly he tore the IV feeding him from his arm, taking a quick note of his fuel levels _54% ugh_. He had to admit though, as he sped past Hoist and out of the medbay before the mech could stop him, that he felt more alive in this moment than he had in months. He was catching up to the pede steps, he could hear them turn and the distinct noise of the well-used bridge door alerted him to their destination.

He entered the room at a run, almost slamming into the back of Bumblebee in his hurry. A deep, oh-so-familiar voice crackled through from the speakers.

“About time, Optimus Prime.” Megatron smirked at the image of his opposite and his officers trying not to appear off balance at his unexpected call, as they piled into view of the screen, almost knocking the rank and file in their haste. Optimus leaned in close, unintimidated by the silver mech.

“You have truly been unpredictable as of late, Megatron. Be aware that this will do nothing to affect the Autobot’s resolve. With that in mind, why have you called?”

“Not to damage your precious resolve,” He could tell Megatron was laughing at him, and he glared. “No, in fact I have come with a proposition.”

“We don’t make deals with Decepti-freaks!” Cliffjumper yelled, before Hound hushed him.

“You might want to take note of this one, Autobots,” Starscream sneered, standing just behind his leader’s shoulder.

“This war—“ He took a moment to rub at his forehelm, every century showing in his tired optics. “This war has persisted for too long.” Prowl stared at the screen as Megatron echoed Red Alert’s statement from the last battle.

“What are you saying?” Optimus Prime demanded, not daring to let himself imagine the answer.

The Decepticon’s expression was deadly serious. “I’m saying that this needs to be over. Now. Neither of us can win this.” He huffed, exasperated as the Autobots merely gawked at him in disbelief through the screen.

“I am offering you peace. Do you accept?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's been so long since I updated, I've had an awful lot going on irl!  
> Really enjoyed writing this chapter once I got into it, I hope it isn't too cheesy.  
> I love reading all of your comments, thank you <3
> 
> The_WideFunction Kindly drew Sunstreaker in his Christmas jumper from chapter 5! Check it out its fab https://lordgrimwing.deviantart.com/art/Sunny-703880472


	11. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My hand slipped and I added too much cheese.

“Prowl- I mean, Sir- wait up!”

Said mech turned towards the call, blinking at the tall green figure that was lumbering noisily down the bright orange corridor towards him.

“Yes? Is everything alright, Bonecrusher?” he asked. The Constructicon laughed nervously, one hand rubbing at his visor.

“Oh, nothing like that, er, the boss bots are after you on the bridge.” Bonecrusher’s clear apprehension caused Prowl’s brow to crease.

“Why were you sent to fetch me, rather than simply comming me?”

“Somethin’ about making sure you didn’t try and detour to your office before going.” _Typical._ Prowl huffed to himself, though it made sense he supposed.

“Very well, I will head there right now. Thank you Bonecrusher.” The mech nodded, but continued to stand their awkwardly. Resisting the urge to roll his optics, Prowl spoke again, “You are dismissed.”

“Thank you, sir!” he saluted, and with that the Constructicon was off in the other direction as quickly as he had come.

 

~

The bridge was empty, except for two figures that stood hunched over the main control helm. The lack of usual personnel didn’t seem to have impacted the sound levels on the bridge whatsoever, as the two mech’s voices radiated throughout the room. Prowl caught snatches of clipped debate.

“That would never work you imbeci—"

“—Oh because your plan to rebuild the council would work so much better.”

He cleared his throat loudly, causing both Optimus Prime and Megatron to jump.

“Oh,” Optimus managed to regain his composure first, “Good afternoon Prowl, thank you for coming so promptly.” He looked warmly at his second in command, his smile clearly visible due to the lack of battle mask. Prowl gave a small smile back.

“Good afternoon, Commanders. Bonecrusher gave me the impression it was somewhat important.”

Next to the Prime, Megatron spoke, “It is. You are stop work immediately and report to Ratchet.”

“What?” Prowl’s tone was scandalised as he stared up at the Decepticon leader. “I’ve been cleared to work for over a month now, Ratchet said so himself!” He felt uncharacteristically emotional, the upset at the prospect of being pulled from duty again overriding his usual professional mask.

Optimus grasped the smaller bot’s shoulders before he could further protest. “This is nothing to do with a medical issue, and it is only for the rest of today, you can go right back to work tomorrow.”

 “Only for—Sir, I don’t understand?” Prowl stumbled over his words, a wave of confusion hitting him.

“Trust me.” The Prime’s servos squeezed gently, a look of gentle insistence across his faceplate. The tactician glanced at his pedes, intake opening and half forming works, before he closed it again and looked back into Optimus’ optics.

“Okay.” His voice was uncertain, but both Optimus and Megatron visibly relaxed at his response.

“Good. Go now, Ratchet is expecting you.”

Prowl moved tentatively towards the exit, looking back at the two leaders, utterly perplexed. What in Primus name was going on?

Moving through the Ark gave him time far too much time to think. Wild possibilities as to what fate awaited him in the medbay flashed through his processor, each more dramatic than the last. Was he going to be forced fuelled again? Strapped down to a bed while a needle was shoved into his protoform and—

 _No_ , Prowl slammed down on the thought, stopping abruptly in his pace as he concentrated on his venting and on the logic of the situation. Optimus had promised him that this was not medically related. Something of a medical nature wouldn’t have made any sense, he had come so far in the months since the end of the war.

It hadn’t been an immediate change, of course, if anything, he had initially gotten sicker. The upheaval and uncertainty of change had sent him, as well as many other members of the army into a spiral of what-ifs and anxiety laced paranoia. Eventually though, as the months crept by, and the interactions between both factions became less awkward, a sense of cautious calm began to emerge. The stability of the arrangement made energon both more plentiful and, in Prowl’s case, easier to stomach.

 _Yes, but what if—_ Growling, Prowl pushed against the anxieties again. Yes, the thoughts of restriction and numbers may still be very present in his mind, but that _alone_ was no reason for Ratchet to admit him.

Reflexively, he looked to his fuel percentage, a display that, conflicting in its ability to both calm and panic, could not be removed from a HUD.

65.7%.

He felt very suddenly hyperaware of his frame, a feeling that, though not ever gone since the war’s end, had been somewhat dulled. Prowl was unsure how welcome he was of its return. In terms of mass, though he was still abnormally scrawny, he was no longer in danger of collapse. However, as he continued in his hesitant journey to the medbay, Prowl felt as weighed down as a triple changer.

 

 

~

He was grateful when he finally entered through the familiar sliding doors of the Ark’s medbay. The tang of disinfectant helped to pull him from his racing thoughts.

“Prowl, that you?” He heard Ratchet before he saw him, coming out of his office to meet him.

“Yes, Optimus said you wanted to see me, and that I was to be taken off duty.” It took everything he had to keep the accusation out of his tone.

Ratchet quirked a brow, “He did tell you it was just for the day, right?”

“Yes, but he won’t tell me what on Earth I’m being taken off for, there’s nothing wrong with me.” His voice cracked. The idea of his progress meaning nothing hurt more than he cared to admit. “I want to work- to help with the reconstruction, I’ve proved myself capable, I’ve done everything you asked me to.”

“Frag, we didn’t mean to panic you Prowl,” the medic huffed, looking back towards his office, before lowering his voice, “Look, it was supposed to be a surprise.”

“What was?”

“Oh, for Primus sake.” And then he shouted, “Jazz, get out here will you. Before he blows a gasket.”

All of Prowl’s anger and panic was lost in the next moment as, from the door to Ratchet’s office, emerged the mech who had stuck by him through it all, the mech who he had begun to officially court a mere 3 weeks ago. And to top it off, under the saboteur’s faceplate splitting grin, he was carrying the biggest bunch of colourful earth flowers that Prowl had ever seen.

“These are fer you.”

Prowl’s spark fluttered as the plants were pushed awkwardly against his bumper. “I-Thank you Jazz.” Then the spell that had come over him faded, and his helm snapped up to meet Jazz’s expectant gaze. “You aft! I thought Ratchet was going to admit me.” The words held no real bite, and they caused the third in command to throw his helm back with mirth.

“Oh mech, I’m sorry,” he managed to get out through his chuckles. “I got us the day off, we’re goin’ on a trip to the Grand Canyon, to see the sights n’ what not.” He added sheepishly, visor pulsing slightly.

Sudden heat flooded Prowl’s cheeks, and he grinned back at Jazz just as broadly, hoping that the sheer adoration he felt in that moment, as well as his relief, was conveyed without the need to vocalise it.

“Ep ep ep, before you drag him off,” he jumped, having almost forgotten that Ratchet was stood next to them. “I want to clear him for flying first.” And so, the tactician endured the poking and prodding with nary a complaint, not even evading the dreaded fuel percentage question, his excitement steadily climbing at the prospect of the trip with Jazz.

 

~

“It’s so beautiful.” Prowl could barely vent. The spring sun glinted off the blue of their optics, as the couple stood observing the great sloping rock faces and vast ravines. If there was one thing to be said about the planet called Earth, Prowl decided, is that its sights were truly some of the most wonderful in the universe.

“Nah, you’re beautiful.” Came Jazz’s cheeky reply, choosing that moment to slip his servo into Prowl’s.

The door winged mech snorted, but he didn’t remove his servo. “And you’re a sap”

“Ain’t I jus’.”

Below them, they were aware of small figures, holidaying families and climbers snapping photos of the views and chattering, but as they walked, their optics remained fixed on the great scale of the rock formations, only the slight breeze making noise between the two.

Almost 10 minutes later, Prowl broke the silence. “Thank you.”

Jazz turned his helm, noticing for the first time that the other mech was staring at him. He licked his lips. “For wha’?”

“For This.” Prowl continued, “And for taking everything so slow with me. I really thought I’d ruined our chances-“

“With you? Never.”

“I mean it, Jazz. Thank you.”

They held the gaze for a moment, before Jazz nodded and moved away. “C’mon, I, er, brought some snacks.” He sat down roughly onto the dusty ground, pulling out two small green energon cubes that were flecked with small pieces that were clearly copper.

“Now I don’t wanna pressure you, you don’t gotta-“

“No,” Prowl was firm, sitting down gently beside him. “Its fine. Besides, copper shavings are one of my favourite flavours.” He accepted one of the cubes, bringing it to his lips. There was a level of apprehension as he registered the sweet taste, but he reminded himself of his comparatively low frame mass, and tried his best to focus on and enjoy the flavour. “Its delicious.” He said, calmed as he watched Jazz’s own relieved slump. And it truly was, the sweetened energon contrasted the zing of the copper pieces perfectly. Its consistency was thick, but smooth, lighting up Prowl’s taste receptors as it slid down his throat.  

 

~

By the time the pair were ready to pack up, the last of the spring sun was disappearing below the rocks in the horizon, casting deep orange shadows, reminiscent of that of the Ark, back home. It was a wonder neither of the pair had shorted out their vocalisers with how much they had chatted and laughed, Prowl mused, his door wings fanned wide as they were tickled by the evening breeze.

Jazz pushed himself onto his elbows, having ended up lazing on his back at some point during the afternoon. “So, if you were gonna rate this date, on a scale of 1 to 10…” he trailed off, leaving Prowl to finish the sentence.

“Hmm,” the door winger smirked, staring out into the distance, “I’d rate it a 9 I think.”

“Only a 9?” Jazz affected a wounded look, placing a servo over his spark as if shot. “How can I make it a 10?”

Still gazing at the sloping rocks, Prowl gave a nonchalant reply, “Oh, I have a pretty good idea as to how.”

“You do? Go on then, Mr. expert tactician, how could you make this,” he gestured wildly to the breathtaking view with an arm, “A 10?”

“Like this.” And suddenly their lips were combined in a chaste but tender kiss. It could have been seconds or hours that they stayed there, but all too soon they were drawing apart. Jazz’s face was comical in his surprise, and both mech’s sparks were whirling in unified delight.

And deep down, in the last of the warmth of the spring sunset dancing upon their plating, Prowl felt something else stirring inside of him, something he had not felt in a very long time; he felt hope.

 

~FIN~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found this chapter particularly difficult to write, partially because I didn't want writing this -which I have very much enjoyed- to be over, and also because I am in a similar position to Prowl in my own mental health journey, and I am finding it very scary but also very positive to acknowledge that I am moving forward.  
> I want to emphasise the fact that though this is the end for this fic, that for Prowl, and for real people with eating disorders the road to recovery is a long one and never straight forward, so patience and understanding is a must from those around them.  
> Thank you to everyone who has read, kudosed, and particularly to those who commented on this fic, you definitely kept me going through writing it lmao


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